


Milestones

by biblionerd07



Series: Two Supersoldiers and a Toddler [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-02-19 21:25:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 77,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2403389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biblionerd07/pseuds/biblionerd07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Continuation of "Shyest"; all the important steps in life with two super-soldiers raising a kid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Dentist

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [里程碑](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4689998) by [joankindom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/joankindom/pseuds/joankindom)
  * Translation into Tiếng Việt available: [Milestones (Vietnamese Translation)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7519765) by [trinhtieulang](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trinhtieulang/pseuds/trinhtieulang)



> I'm making this multi-chapter, but the chapters aren't really going to be connected; each one will be a different milestone in their life as a family and they won't necessarily be chronological. Most take place in the time jump in Shyest from the main story and the epilogue, but some will be after the epilogue as well.

They need to take Grant to the dentist. They both know it; they've been side-stepping it for a few days, since Pepper mentioned it in passing. Bucky spent a lot of time in the dentist's chair during the war, when they were trying to fix up soldiers' teeth, but he doesn't remember much besides the feeling of two gold teeth in the back of his mouth. Those, of course, disappeared when he became the Winter Soldier; he has no idea if Zola's version of the serum made him somehow regrow the teeth or if the normal-looking teeth he now sports aren't actually teeth. He chooses not to think about the other option, that the teeth are real teeth but not _his_ real teeth.

Steve had been a good brusher as a child, thanks to his nurse mother, and probably got extra-strong enamel with the serum. When he first woke up and found out about regular dental visits (“Every six _months_?” He'd asked Pepper, aghast), he'd dutifully scheduled a check-up. The hygienist had almost fainted when he said his last dental visit had been in 1944.

But with everything that's happened with Grant, they've been putting off the dentist. Finally, Bucky reads a scathing post on a mommy-blog about tooth decay in children and they schedule an appointment. The problem is, they don't know any dentists. They'll have to take Grant to some office, to some stranger, like regular people.

Bucky seems personally offended by this.

“Stark's a billionaire and he doesn't have a dentist in the Tower?” He asks on the subway. One day a week, Bucky forces himself to take the train. He usually holds onto a rail with white knuckles, but he's getting better with Grant there to focus on.

“It'll be good,” Steve says, wincing as Grant presses his face against the grimy window. He studiously tries not to think about how many other people's mouths have touched that window. “He can be normal for once.”

Steve should have known better.

The waiting room isn't terrible; there's a corner full of toys for the kids to play with while their parents fill out what feels like an entire ream of paperwork. Grant sits at the edge and watches the other kids playing, but he doesn't join in no matter how many encouraging nods Steve and Bucky give him. He's getting so much better at interacting with people, but this is a new place and these aren't his regular daycare friends he's gotten used to. They have to wait for what feels like forever, and then a woman in scrubs opens the door to the back and calls,

“Grant Barnes-Rogers.” Steve and Bucky grin at each other for a second over the hyphenated name.

“Ready, kid?” Bucky asks. Grant gets even more shy and scared and wants to be carried, and he won't respond to the hygienist's attempts at small talk with him. It doesn't take long to get to the room, and the woman gestures them in and says,

“Have a seat in the chair.”

And that's when Bucky loses it.

He's got Grant in his arms and the first sign of trouble is the way his entire body stills, going from loose and relaxed to coiled and on alert. Every single movement freezes and it's not something Steve can miss.

“Buck?” He asks cautiously, holding up a hand so the hygienist will stay outside the room.

Bucky's eyes dart over to Steve but he doesn't move any other muscle. Steve curses himself. He should have known. There's a goddamn _chair_ right in front of them, a chair that reclines and has equipment facing it, a chair that doesn't have restraints but still looks all too similar to the chair that Bucky can only associate with pain and erased memories.

“Stevie.” Bucky's voice is urgent. “We been made somehow, I guess. Take the kid and go. You know where the go bags are; don't go back to the Tower.”

“Bucky.” Steve wants so badly to touch him but he doesn't think it's a good idea. “It's not HYDRA. It's a dentist.”

“Papa?” Grant asks hesitantly.

“Go to Daddy.” Bucky kisses Grant's hair and starts handing him to Steve. “Steve, _go_.”

“Buck.” Steve takes Grant but stands firm in the doorway. “No one's going to hurt you.”

“They're here for the kid,” Bucky hisses. “I'm not letting that happen.”

“They're not going to hurt Grant,” Steve promises, feeling helpless. He's glad Bucky hadn't just gone straight into Winter Soldier mode and started trying to kill people; he'd have to stop him if that were the case, and he's not sure who'd be more traumatized, himself or Grant.

“Tony did background checks on this whole office, remember?” Steve continued, voice pitched low and soothing. “And then you checked. You ran surveillance for two days.”

Bucky's starting to breathe faster, a sign that he's confused between what he thinks he knows and what he's seeing. Steve warily puts a hand on Bucky's shoulder and can feel every muscle tight and tense beneath his hand.

“I ran surveillance,” Bucky mumbles.

“You did. You didn't find anything wrong.”

“I didn't find anything,” Bucky repeats. He sounds faraway, but Steve recognizes that he's coming back. He finally moves—turns his head, just enough to see Steve standing there holding Grant—and lets out a long, slow breath. He covers his face with his hands.

“Okay?” Steve asks. Bucky shakes his head, tugging at his hair a little.

“Daddy?” Grant whispers in Steve's ear. He hasn't seen many of Bucky's flashbacks and so far, luckily (Steve wants to knock on wood), he hasn't seen any violent ones.

“It's okay,” Steve promises him. “Papa just needs to take a deep breath.”

“I'm sorry,” Bucky murmurs, running a hand through his hair. At least he's not pulling it anymore.

“Buck, you don't need to be sorry,” Steve says firmly. Bucky finally looks at Grant.

“Hey, kid.” He smiles, a half-smile that's twisted with bitterness, and Grant stares back solemnly.

“Did you have a nightmare?” He asks worriedly. Bucky sighs a little.

“Yeah, guess I did.”

“Do you need a hug?” It's what they always ask him when he wakes up in the middle of the night. That gets a real smile out of Bucky, though it's still small. He holds out his arms and Grant wraps an arm around his neck, keeping one around Steve, too, so they're in a semi-circle group hug.

“Thanks, kid,” Bucky says, voice muffled from where he's resting his face against the side of Grant's head.

“Mr. Barnes-Rogers?” The hygienist sounds supremely freaked out and no one can really blame her.

“Uh.” Steve pulls away so he can turn around, rubbing the back of his neck. “It's—we're fine. Grant's ready.” He looks back at Bucky and Grant. “Right?” Bucky nods and Grant looks between them a few times.

“Not gonna hurt me?” He clarifies.

“Well, it might hurt a little.” Steve can't lie; the dentist used those pointy things on his gums and he'd been ready to cry about it as a scientifically-enhanced grown man. “But we're not going to let anyone do anything bad to you.”

Grant takes a minute to think this over, then nods hesitantly. He slides down from Bucky's arms and climbs up into the chair. Bucky's muscles shiver a little, like he's going to reach out and pull Grant away, but he stops himself. The hygienist gives Steve a questioning look and he nods, smiling brightly. She raises an eyebrow slightly but goes in to get to work. Steve steps up to Bucky's side and leans their shoulders together.

The woman gives Grant a pair of sunglasses and lowers the chair so he's lying back. Distress is practically radiating off Bucky, but he's trying to hold it together so he doesn't freak Grant out more. When she starts poking around in Grant's mouth, a tray of instruments at her side, Bucky makes a strangled little noise. Steve can't take it anymore.

“Go sit in the waiting room,” he says quietly. Bucky takes a deep breath in and holds it, shakes his head.

“'m fine,” he insists. “I can handle it.”

She's still poking around and must hit a sensitive spot because Grant whimpers a little and Bucky takes half a step forward. He stops and runs a trembling hand through his hair.

“Buck.” Steve gets a hand on Bucky's shoulder and squeezes. “There's nothing wrong with sitting in the waiting room. Okay? This isn't good for you.”

“I can't—Steve, I gotta...” Bucky's breathing hard, eyes wide and scared.

“Go wait outside,” Steve practically growls. Seeing Bucky like this over something as innocuous as a dentist's office is like a punch to Steve's stomach.

Bucky shakes his head again, but he bites his lip so Steve knows he's trying to figure out how to explain himself. “It'll be worse if I don't watch,” he says softly. “I need to make sure nothing happens to him.”

Steve's ready to accept this until the hygienist finishes what she's doing and says, “Okay, he's prepped. I'll go get the dentist.” Bucky's face drains of all color and his lip is starting to curl into a snarl.

“Bucky,” Steve murmurs. Bucky shudders and stays back. “I'll be in here with Grant. You know I won't let anything happen to him. But you need to get out of here. You can't watch this.”

Bucky's breath is coming out jittery as the dentist strides in, and he puts a mask over his face and Bucky makes a small whining sound and clings to Steve's arm.

“Okay,” he finally says. “I gotta—I have to go out there.” He's breathing raggedly and Steve asks the dentist to wait a second. Bucky makes his way, haltingly, to the chair and Grant waves at him.

“Hey, kid.” Bucky's trying hard to keep his voice steady. “I'm going to wait outside, okay?”

“Is Daddy staying?” Grant asks, lower lip trembling slightly.

“I'm staying,” Steve confirms. “Papa's going to go back out and do...grownup stuff. Paperwork.”

Grant examines Bucky's pale, sweaty face and narrows his eyes a little. “Because your nightmare?” He asks, too shrewd for his age.

“Yeah,” Bucky admits softly. “This chair is like my nightmare.”

Grant nods seriously and reaches a hand out to poke Bucky's arm. “It's okay,” he promises. “I can be brave.”

Bucky's going to break down if he doesn't leave that second. He bends down and kisses Grant's forehead, rasping his stubble against Grant's baby-smooth skin enough to make Grant shriek and giggle. Steve follows him into the hall and gives his hand a squeeze.

“It's okay,” he says before Bucky can apologize. “I should've known better.”

Bucky wants to protest that he should _be_ better, but it's not a discussion to be had here. He goes out to the waiting room and sits with his head in his hands and hears the secretaries whispering about him. When Steve and Grant come out, he's stopped shaking and is sitting upright. Grant runs out and throws himself against Bucky's knees.

“How'd it go, kid?” Bucky's voice is strong and Steve beams at him.

“I don't have any catties,” Grant reports. “And I got a new toothbrush but I like the one at home.”

“You can use both,” Bucky says, standing up and taking Grant with him. Steve lets his hand fall to the small of Bucky's back as they leave the office. Steve doesn't even say anything as he completely bypasses the subway station. Bucky shoots him a glance and Steve shrugs.  
  
“Nice day,” he says nonchalantly. “Not too far to walk.”

Bucky smiles softly at him. Steve knows the train would be a disaster after what happened in the office, but Bucky appreciates that he isn't going to make a big deal of it.

“Yeah, 'cause you're not carrying the kid,” Bucky grouses.

“Buck, you have a _metal arm_.” Steve rolls his eyes. “It doesn't even get tired.”

“Hey, pal, my metal arm is attached to my body with _screws_ ,” Bucky reminds him. “Heavy objects could pull those screws right out.”

Steve laughs out loud at that. A year and a half ago, when he first got Bucky back, he would've been terrified at that prospect (actually _had_ been terrified, and refused to let Bucky carry anything in case it was hurting him), but he knows better by now. “Oh, yeah, because Tony would make screws that could come out like that. And a twenty-four pound toddler's enough to do that.”

“You never know,” Bucky shoots back, fake-solemn. He looks at Grant. “What do you think? Are you big enough to pull my whole arm off?”

Grant looks horrified. “Your arm will fall _off_?” He gasps.

“Maybe,” Bucky teases. “If you're big enough.”

“No! I'm just tiny!”

Steve and Bucky laugh, because he _is_ tiny. “Don't worry, my arm won't fall off,” Bucky reassures him when it's apparent Grant is actually worried. “It wouldn't even fall off if I carried him.” He nods toward Steve.

“Whoa.” Grant's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “But Daddy's so heavy.”

“Hey,” Steve complains mildly. "First Sam, now you. A guy just can't get respect around here."

“That's how strong I am,” Bucky says.

“I could pick you both up,” Steve cuts in. “Right now. Want me to? I could lift that _car_.”

Bucky laughs, so Grant does, too, even though he doesn't completely understand what's going on. “You just want to show off,” Bucky accuses teasingly.

“Sounds like my honor's at stake here.”

“Oh, you know how I feel about your _honor_...”

“Buck.” Steve narrows his eyes, fake-warning, and shoots a look at Grant. Bucky wiggles his eyebrows lecherously and Steve can't keep a straight face.

When they get home, Grant takes his bag off Steve's arm and runs into the bathroom to brush his teeth, saying he doesn't want his teeth to fall out (“Ah, hell,” Bucky grimaces. “What do you think's gonna happen when he finds out about baby teeth?”)

Bucky collapses onto the couch with a sigh. He's been holding it together the whole way home, but he feels exhausted after the flood of flashbacks and anxiety and the effort of pulling himself back. It happens less often these days, thanks to time and a healthy helping of regularly scheduled intense therapy sessions.

Steve runs his fingers through Bucky's hair from behind the couch. “Tough day,” he says. Bucky grunts in response, tilting his head to give Steve better access to his scalp. They can hear Grant singing the ABCs while he brushes his teeth, probably spitting toothpaste all over the mirror. Steve's fingers stop their journey at _elemenopee_ and Bucky whines a little in protest. Steve laughs and bends down to kiss Bucky's hair.

“We got through it, Buck.” Steve rests his cheek against the top of Bucky's head. _T-U-V_.

“Still gonna be more tough days,” Bucky says softly.

“Mm.” Steve wraps his arms around Bucky's neck and if it weren't Steve Bucky would start plotting escape routes. “Fine by me.”

Bucky grins and, because he's a sap, bends his neck a little to kiss Steve's arm. Steve laughs at him and kisses his hair again.

 _Next time won't you sing with meeeeee._ Grant holds out the last note and then cracks up laughing at himself, which makes Steve and Bucky crack up laughing, too. Bucky tilts his head back far enough to dislodge Steve and get an upside-down kiss on the lips. Maybe Bucky doesn't mind tough days too much either.


	2. Mission

“Hey, Cap.” Tony sounds almost apologetic and it automatically sets Steve on edge.

“Tony.” He only just manages not to make it a question.

“We have an emergency,” Tony says, wincing slightly on the little screen. “A big one.”

“What's going on?”

“Oh, you know, the usual—an alien here, a wizard with enchanted animals there, civilians being compromised...” Tony makes a face. “I know how you feel about the civilians. And I don't want this to sound manipulative, but we've got evil aliens taking cover in a children's hospital.”

Steve grimaces. He can't stand when the bad guys use kids. “Quinjet on the roof?”

“In thirty. We, uh, we could use both of you, really.” Now Tony really _does_ sound apologetic and Steve glares.

“Well, it's up to him. But if he says yes, we're going to need more than half an hour because we're going to have to get Grant somewhere.”

“Just leave him there.” Tony waves a hand. “JARVIS is an excellent babysitter.”

“JARVIS doesn't have a body," Steve points out. “Though JARVIS is probably a better babysitter than you are.”

“Thank you, Captain,” JARVIS says, at the same time Tony presses a hand to his heart like he's been wounded.

“I am betrayed,” he deadpans.

“I'll call Darcy, but if she can't do it we can't both come.” Being sidelined due to not finding a babysitter would be one of the strangest reasons to miss a mission Steve's encountered so far. They sometimes have one of the teenagers who interns with the SHIELD daycare to babysit, but a mission could last overnight and they're not really okay with leaving their kid in the charge of another kid for an unknown amount of time.

Steve hangs up with Tony and walks out to the living room. Grant's at the kitchen table coloring, legs swinging, making explosion noises, but Bucky's not there.

“Where's Papa?”

Grant makes another explosion noise and then turns to look at Steve. “I need a repeat. I took out my hearing aid.”

“Where's Papa?” Steve says, signing at the same time just to be sure. Grant scrunches up his face in concentration.

“I don't know. Can I have fruit snacks?”

“Um—yeah,” Steve acquiesces distractedly, forgetting Grant's already brushed his teeth until Grant's eyes light up in disbelief. Well, too late to take it back. “Only one package,” Steve adds, crossing to the cupboard and pulling out a pack of Avengers fruit snacks Sam thought would be hilarious to feed to Grant.

He knows Bucky isn't in their bedroom. He ducks his head into Grant's room. Empty.

“Buck?” He calls.

“Bathroom,” Bucky answers. Steve walks in to find Bucky taking a bubble bath. Steve blinks.

“Bubbles?”

Bucky shrugs, completely unselfconscious. “I like 'em. They smell like strawberries.”

Steve shakes his head a little. “Okay, whatever. We've got a mission and we could use the backup, if you feel up to it. But it's your decision. There's no right or wrong answer and—”

“I know, punk.” Bucky pulls the plug with his toes and Steve can't help but raise an eyebrow because Bucky's covered in suds and he's going to have to—yep, he's standing straight up and turning on the shower and now Steve's getting a show.

“We don't have time for this,” Steve says, slightly exasperated. Bucky gives him an offended look.

“I'm just rinsing off. Get your mind outta the gutter.”

“I'll call Darcy.” Steve can feel his face turning red. How can Bucky _still_ make him blush?

“If she can't...maybe I'll stay behind,” Bucky says hesitantly. He's torn between not wanting to fight anymore and not wanting Steve to go into a battle without Bucky at his back.

“Hey.” Steve turns back around, careful to keep his eyes above the belt because if he doesn't things could devolve quickly and he wasn't kidding about not having time for that. “It's your choice, Buck. Sam and Rhodey are both here, too, so we've got extra backup. We'll have Clint up above in sniper position. I won't be on my own.”

“I know.” Bucky doesn't meet Steve's eyes, busying himself with toweling off. “I just...” He sighs a little. “If Darcy can do it, I'll come.” His voice is firmer now and Steve's not going to second-guess him.

Darcy says she's “happy to watch TV and stuff the kid full of sugar” until they get back, even if it turns into a multi-day experience. “Be up in twenty minutes,” she says cheerfully. “How do you feel about Pay-Per-View?”

“Order whatever you want,” Steve says gratefully. “His bedtime's in an hour and hopefully we'll be back before he wakes up in the morning.”

He and Bucky are quiet as they put on their gear. Bucky hasn't put on his tac gear in almost a year, since they finished taking down HYDRA. They've both been on an unofficial paternity leave since they got Grant, though Steve's gone on a few missions. One included giant spiders and Steve went along mostly to hurry them off the streets because Grant saw news footage and had nightmares.

Bucky doesn't really look nervous, but he's a hell of a lot better at schooling his expressions these days. He loads up on knives, garrotte wires, and handguns and straps his rifle across his back, and Steve sees him eyeing the mask he'd worn as the Winter Soldier.

“You don't have to wear that,” Steve says softly. “It doesn't actually protect you from anything. I don't wear anything over my mouth.”

“If only you did,” Bucky jokes weakly, his smile a little too shaky to be right, but he leaves the mask where it is. They go out to the living room to find Grant on his fourth picture and his third package of fruit snacks.

“Hey,” Steve chides gently. Grant jumps and looks incredibly guilty. “I said only one.”

“I had only one,” Grant tries. He has fruit snacks stuffed into both cheeks. He looks like a squirrel. “Um, but there was no Captain America. And then there was no Captain America _again_.” Captain America, in a twist that everyone besides Steve seems to find hilarious, is Grant's favorite Avenger, even though he hasn't figured out that he _knows_ the Avengers and his favorite is, in fact, his dad.

“Really,” Bucky says skeptically. “Did the last one have Captain America?”

“No,” Grant lies, the evidence in the blue tint of his tongue. “I need 'nother.”

“Nice try,” Steve says. “But no more.” He's about to ask how Grant reached them when he sees a chair pushed over to the cupboard. Even then he must've climbed up onto the counter to reach them.

“That kid is getting too brave for his own good,” Bucky mutters. “Between him and you I'm gonna have gray hair by next month.”

“You could always dye it,” Steve suggests with a cheeky grin. “Become a blue hair like the old ladies on our block.”

“Ain't you a comedian.” Bucky rolls his eyes. “Hey, kid, Darcy's going to come for bedtime tonight.”

Grant eyes the clothes they're wearing and the fact that Steve has his shield strapped to his back. “Where are you going?” He asks suspiciously, already knowing he's being left out of something.

“We gotta go fight some bad guys,” Steve tells him.

“ _Both_?”

“Yeah, Papa's going to come, too.”

Grant mulls this over. “Buuuuuut.” He draws the word out. “Papa stays home with me.”

“I need to go, too,” Bucky says. “To make sure none of the bad guys hurt Daddy.”

Grant's eyes go big. “Are they gonna try?”

Bucky winces a little, because he doesn't want to freak the kid out and then dump him on Darcy, but he doesn't want to lie. “Yeah, they probably are,” he says. “So I'm not going to let them.”

Grant nods solemnly. “Wait for me. I'll get Bucky Bear,” he declares, jumping off the chair.

“Grant, you're staying here with Darcy.”

“No,” he says confidently. “I'm gonna help.”

Steve doesn't know if he should laugh or cry. “You're just a kid, Grant.”

Grant plants his hands on his hips and Bucky glances accusingly at Steve out of the corner of his eye. Steve squirms a little because they both know where Grant learned that stance.

“Papa's gonna make sure no one hurts Daddy and _I'm_ gonna make sure no one hurts Papa.” He raises his chin stubbornly, looking the absolute picture of Steve Rogers in miniature and Bucky can't hold back a smile. He presses his lips together, knowing from experience with Steve how well laughing at him will go.

“Clint's going to make sure no one hurts me,” Bucky promises.

“Then who's gonna make sure no one hurts Clint?”

Bucky gapes slightly, because he legitimately has no answer. He's honestly just been outsmarted by a three-year-old. _Three and a half_ , Grant would correct if Bucky said it out loud.

“Grant, we need someone to stay home and keep the house safe,” Steve says, suddenly having a bright idea. “Darcy's going to help but she needs someone to watch her back. Can you do that?”

“Yes, I can.” Grant accepts his duty very seriously. “I'll karate-chop any bad guys who come in.”

“That sounds like a great idea,” Bucky says. “Practice one right now.”

Grant obliges, screaming _hi-ya!_ as he does so, and they both tell him in very grave tones that they know the house will be safe with him there to guard it. His little chest puffs out proudly.

“Soon _I_ can be a 'venger,” he says.

“Sure thing, half-pint,” Bucky agrees.

Darcy comes up later and they keep thanking her. They're a little more nervous to leave Grant than they'd realized twenty minutes ago. They've never been gone overnight.

“He likes his Bernstein Bears book the most,” Bucky says. “He'll try to make you read it more than once but you don't have to if you really don't want to.” The look on his face says he'll think less of her if she only reads it once.

“He'll say he needs a bath but he already had one,” Steve adds. “You can give him another one if you want, it doesn't really matter, but it's mostly to stall going to bed.”

“Oh, he needs his songs to fall asleep. JARVIS knows which ones.”

“If he has a nightmare, don't touch him until he reaches for you.”

“If he wets the bed—”

“You guys.” Darcy holds up a hand to stop the nervous flood spewing from the super-soldiers. “I've babysat him before.”

“Never at bedtime.” Steve sounds almost in pain.

“It's really not rocket science,” Darcy says, which they both feel a little miffed about because they've had Grant for six months and they still wouldn't say they have everything figured out.

“Well.” Bucky runs a hand through his hair. “We'll, um, we'll go up to the roof, I guess.”

Darcy rolls her eyes. “Grant, we're gonna have fun, right?”

“Yeah!” He cries, then remembers his assignment. “We're gonna protect the house.”

“Well, that's not weird at all.” Darcy plasters on a large smile. “We'll make a fort out of the couch cushions to keep us safe.” That makes Grant bounce up and down in excitement.

Steve and Bucky each give him a hug and a kiss goodnight, but he's so thrilled to have Darcy there to play with that he doesn't seem real torn up about them leaving. He waves goodbye as they shut the door.

The Quinjet ride is short and Bucky fidgets tensely the whole time. He hadn't fidgeted as the Winter Soldier, he knows, and fidgeting actually centers him. As long as he can aimlessly shift in his seat and drum his fingers on his knee, he can stay present and not be worried he's back with HYDRA.

It helps that Steve's got his hand on Bucky's knee, too.

The children's hospital is brutal. The only lights in the place are the emergency ones, the backup generator putting its power toward the machines keeping the kids alive, and there's a lot of scared crying going on. The nurses are beside themselves—they've moved all the kids they can into the big play room, but there's a bunch of kids who are too frail to be moved from their rooms. The aliens seem to be using the hospital more as a cover, luckily, than an act of terror, so they're holed up in a different part of the hospital, but they've got two nurses and four kids hostage as insurance. The remaining nurses are taking turns running between the rooms of the kids who couldn't be moved into the playroom.

Seeing kids used like that would've made Steve and Bucky angry before, especially because Steve knows firsthand how scary it is to be in the hospital overnight as a child, but now that they have Grant, they're both outright queasy. Every kid has Grant's face and Bucky's afraid he's going to lose himself.

“The only door into the section of the hospital they're in is through the play room,” Clint reports grimly from the ventilation shaft. “We got at least thirty aliens in here. I can't take them all out.”

“That's definitely not ideal,” Steve sighs. “There's no other way?”

“We could try to blast the outside wall,” Tony suggests.

“No way,” Bucky snaps. “They've got sick kids in that room.”

“We're going to have to move those kids out of the play room,” Natasha says.

“Can you move the kids into the vent?” Sam asks Clint.

“Not all four of them without the aliens noticing. And two of them are hooked up to IV poles.”

“We could suggest a parlay,” Thor says. “And move the children while someone speaks with the creatures.”

“Tony and I can each grab two, since we're in the suits,” Rhodey offers. “We're big enough to keep 'em covered. And we can handle the IV poles.”

“We're still going to have to move all the kids out of the playroom,” Steve pulls his cowl off and smooths his hair down. “We're not risking them being too close. Or even seeing anything.” He pulls out his phone and sends Darcy a quick text. _If we're on the news, please don't let Grant see._

“I don't want to bring out the Other Guy until the kids are gone,” Bruce says. “I don't want to scare them.”

They move the kids as quickly and quietly as they can. Steve carries three at a time and murmurs soothingly to them the whole way. Natasha scoops up a little boy who's been crying inconsolably the entire time they've been there.

“Your arm is shiny,” a little girl whispers into Bucky's ear as he carries her out. She's not attached to an IV, but she's got a medical alert bracelet and painful bruises on her arms.

“It's made out of metal,” he tells her quietly.

“A pro—prosthetic?” She stumbles over the word but smiles proudly when she gets it right.

“Yeah. I had a real bad fall and lost my arm so I got this one.” He waits for the all-clear from Steve before ducking around the corner to deposit her in the waiting room where they're moving the kids.

“I'm getting a prosthetic,” she says, eyes trained on his arm. “My leg is too full of the cancer so they're gonna, um, amptate it.”

“Amputate,” he corrects gently, pausing before rushing away to grab more kids. “I'm sorry 'bout your leg.”

Her lower lip wobbles a little but she shrugs. “If they don't cut off my leg I could die.”

“Well, it's good you'll be alive.” He bites his lip, unsure how to proceed. “You be real brave, huh? The doctors will take care of you and...you know, you can still run around and everything.” He feels ridiculous. He has no idea what to say to this poor little girl.

“Maybe I can be a superhero like you.” She smiles at him and he feels his chest tighten a little. He hasn't considered himself a superhero but it's not like he's going to correct her.

“You _are_ a superhero,” he tells her. He smooths down her hair. “I gotta go get some more of your friends, alright? Maybe you can play with some of the younger kids who are scared.”

“Okay,” she says, beckoning at the crying boy Natasha brought out. Bucky watches her wrap a small arm around his shoulders before he heads back out.

The aliens, it turns out, aren't very bright, tactically. They let go of the kids and nurses with no fight, and just as Bucky's thinking, _this was easy_ , the aliens open fire and everything turns chaotic. There's no time to get to a higher vantage point and try picking them off; Clint's up above, at least, so he's taking care of that, so Bucky gets to fight alongside Steve. It's not a long fight, really—the Hulk basically steps on two or three of them at a time and really simplifies things—but it's enough for Steve to get hit in the face with an alien-elbow and for Bucky to get a slash across his neck, not deep enough to do any real damage but to sure bleed a lot.

And then there are bodies to move, children to take back to their rooms, and a wizard setting overgrown lizards through the streets of Queens. Steve's black eye from the children's hospital is soon joined by a bite mark on his thigh big enough to tear the leg of his uniform. Bucky brings the lizard down with a double tap to the head and another to the heart.

“Bit of overkill, Buck, don't you think?” Steve pants, putting pressure on the ring of gouges in his leg.

“Not at all,” Bucky growls, shooting another through the neck as it tries to creep up on Natasha. Rhodey blasts one behind Bucky and Bucky salutes him without turning around, not taking his eyes off Steve for one second. “No one bites you but me.”

“Ugh, _guh-ross_ ,” Tony protests. “You're still on the comms, you perverts!”

“Stark, you gonna help us out or just be a pain in the ass?” Natasha yells as she ducks behind Thor so he can throw Mjolnir directly through the torso of one of the lizards. She's got lizard guts splattered all over her face.

“This is seriously nasty,” Sam complains as he catches some slime after shooting another lizard.

“Slimy,” Hulk agrees. Half the reason they're all getting covered in the slimy entrails is because Hulks keeps smashing them with a disgusting _splat_.

Clint hits the wizard with some special arrow that knocks him out (“Yeah, now you're all glad I labeled my arrows, aren't you?”) and the remaining lizards shrink back to regular size.

“Feel kinda bad,” Steve says, because of course he does. “It's not like they wanted to hurt us. They didn't have a choice. The wizard just took them and enchanted them and—”

“Steve, not everything has to be a metaphor for me,” Bucky interrupts exasperatedly. “Let's get back to the Tower and get this goop off so we can go to bed.”

They shower in the gym instead of going directly up to their floor, because they don't want to get lizard guts everywhere. Also because the gym showers are conveniently close to the medical bay and Bucky isn't going to let Steve get away with his _I have enhanced healing_ routine to get out of getting that bite checked.

When they finally get back up to their floor, it's nearly eight in the morning. Grant's standing on a stool pulled up to the stove so he can help Darcy make pancakes, and they're both singing along to some song and Grant's wiggling his hips to try to imitate Darcy's dancing. It's incredibly adorable, and after a night of terrified children and lizard guts, it's downright heartwarming.

“You're home!” Grant squeals when they close the door, scrambling down from his perch so he can run to them and throw his whole body against their legs. Bucky moves forward a little to take the brunt of the impact, because Steve will never show it but his leg hurts. Bucky scoops Grant into his arms and holds him up in the air while Grant pretends to be Superman.

“Papa, you got a bandage on your neck,” Grant points out. “Did you get a big ouchie?”

“Nah, not too bad,” Bucky brushes it off. It had hurt like hell but it'll be gone in by noon.

“Avenging went well?” Darcy asks, flipping a pancake.

“Business as usual,” Steve says with an exaggerated shrug. He still can't lie for shit. The painkillers won't help, so he'll just have to grit it out while his skin knits back together.

“Oooh, Daddy got an ouchie on his eye.” Grant makes a sympathetic face that Bucky can't help but smile at. Grant wriggles around and reaches for Steve, so Bucky hands him over. He gives Steve a sloppy kiss right on his eyebrow. “All better,” he declares.

“Wow, are you magic?” Steve makes his eyes go wide and Grant giggles.

“I'm going to take Grant down to daycare as soon as we're done with pancakes,” Darcy announces.

“He doesn't go to daycare on Wednesdays,” Bucky tells her.

“Yeah, I know. But I called and told them he'd be in. You guys could try napping after a whole night of fighting. See how it feels.”

Bucky wants to protest, wants to say they're fine, but his eyes feel gritty and Steve's paler than usual with exhaustion and blood loss. His enhanced healing takes a lot out of him.

“Thanks, Darce.” Bucky leans in and plants a kiss on her cheek. “What would we do without you?”

“Turn into zombies, probably,” she says flippantly. “And as cool as that would probably be, I'm attached to my brains.”

“Brains _and_ a body that won't quit? You got the whole package, dollface.” Bucky throws her a wink and she snorts at him.

“What kind of girl do you think I am?” She asks, dramatically offended. “Flirting with a man in front of his guy and his child.”

“Ah, so if we ditch 'em I could get some sugar?”

“Sure ain't getting sugar from here,” Steve mutters, fake-annoyed.

“Daddy, look, I made a Mickey Mouse pancake!” Grant is oblivious to the fun flirting going on, as usual. There's a blob that could maybe be a vague mouse head, and Steve exclaims over it like it's the Mona Lisa.

Darcy hustles Grant along in changing and brushing his teeth. By the time they're gone, Bucky's resting heavily against his chair and Steve's drooping forward onto the table.

“Come on, soldier.” Bucky tugs at Steve's arm. “Bed.”

“I can stay awake longer than unenhanced humans,” Steve mumbles. “I can...um...stay awake.”

“Real convincing. And anyway, one, there's no reason to stay awake, and two, your body's putting your leg back together and it'd probably appreciate not having to try to pump blood to that lump you call a brain.”

“Ha,” Steve manages. He's practically asleep where he stands, so it's up to Bucky to maneuver them down the hall and into bed.

Bucky's almost out, Steve's face pressed into his neck, when Steve squirms a little and slurs something Bucky doesn't catch except for “Tony said” and “leg.”

“What about your leg?” Bucky asks. Steve snuffles a little and groans. Bucky, thinking it's something important to Steve's healing, jostles him a little. “Hey, pal. What'd Tony say?”

“The girl at the hospital. Get her a good leg.” His words are slow and almost don't make sense to Bucky's brain, foggy as it is from lack of sleep, but then he remembers the little girl admiring his arm.

“Oh. Tony's going to get her a prosthetic?”

“Build it.”

“That's nice of him,” Bucky says contemplatively.

“Shhh,” Steve insists, pressing closer into Bucky's side. “Sleeping.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. Which one of them was fighting going to bed not twenty minutes ago? He skims a hand through Steve's hair, feeling his own eyelids getting heavy. He'd been afraid to suit up again and fight, afraid he'd forget who he is and all he's worked for the last year and a half since Steve found him. He'd been afraid he'd get overtaken by some kind of bloodlust and go on a killing spree. Instead, he'd done his part, saved some kids and the borough of Queens, and kept Steve safe. He'd even gotten the chance to get a little girl a state-of-the-art prosthetic and eat pancakes with his son when he got home.

He snuggles closer to Steve and kisses the top of his head. “I'm gonna be okay, Stevie,” he whispers.

Steve just snores in response, but Bucky figures he'll keep him anyway.


	3. Get Lost

It's great to have babysitters and go out alone sometimes, but Steve and Bucky still love taking Grant out in public because he gets excited about things the way only a child can. He shrieks with delight _every time_ he sees a fire truck. He bounces up and down no matter how many times he's ridden the subway. And his excitement over the park is only rivaled by Clint's dog's.

Bucky's leery of people who come up to talk to Grant. They're usually just telling him how cute he is, but there's a piece of Bucky that's never going to be comfortable with strangers. And sometimes people go overboard on complimenting Grant's cuteness, and then Steve and Bucky get weirded out.

They've gotten a few disapproving sniffs once or twice, due to the obvious nature of Steve and Bucky's relationship, but no one's ever actually said anything to them and it doesn't bother them too badly. So all in all, going out in public is usually far more good than bad.

But today's encounter turns out to be a bad one. It's not like it doesn't happen to most parents at some point (Tony tells them, "My parents forgot me _everywhere_ when I was a kid," which does not make them feel better), but it's never happened to them and they both feel incredibly guilty. The big bad thing that happens is _they lose their son_.

They're at the mall, because Sam's birthday is coming up and they're buying him a present. Grant seems to be slightly confused and thinks he's the one getting the present, no matter how many times they tell him it's Sam's birthday, not his.

“Oh!” Grant tugs on their hands as they pass a toy store.

“We're going to get Sam's present first,” Bucky reminds him for about the eighth time. “And then we will _maybe_ look at toys.”

“Maybe yes?” Grant negotiates.

“Maybe maybe,” Steve counters. Grant doesn't dignify that with a response. Steve's stomach gives a loud grumble as they pass a pretzel stand and Bucky fixes him with a narrow-eyed look.

“Do I have to give you the same speech about Sam's present first?”

“No,” Steve says defensively. “I'm a grownup. I can wait.” His stomach seems to understand what he's saying and protests loudly. Bucky can't maintain the glare and cracks up laughing at the sheepish look on Steve's face. They buy pretzels and Grant gets pretzel bites and keeps giggling because Steve calls them pretzel nuggets and they're all around having a good time.

They're in a sporting goods store trying to decide between two kinds of running watches to get Sam (“Maybe if he can see how slow he's running he'll run faster,” Steve jokes) when Grant spots a display of fishing poles and tugs at the hem of Bucky's shirt.

“Papa, what are those?”

“Fishing poles. For catching fish. You put a worm on the hook and then throw it in the water and the fish tries to eat the worm,” Bucky tells him a little distractedly as he examines another model of watch.

“And then what?”

“The fish gets stuck on the hook,” Steve supplies. “This one does heart rate, too, not just pace.”

“And then what?”

“You eat the fish.” Bucky does his best not to try exasperated. They're almost done, hopefully, if they can focus long enough to make a choice, and besides, he's not really a fishing expert.

Grant accepts this answer and moves on to the next display: hiking boots. “These look like Daddy's shoes,” he announces. He moves a little further down the line of boots. “And these look like Papa's. And those look like Sam's.”

It takes Bucky longer than it should to realize he's not hearing Grant's voice anymore, but when he does realize, his head snaps up immediately. He scans the area and doesn't see Grant and suddenly it's like a vice is squeezing his heart.

“Steve,” he says hoarsely. “Where's Grant?” Steve looks around and his eyes go a little wild when he doesn't see that little blond head.

“He's probably just—” He gestures as he takes a few steps to see around the fishing pole display, but there's still no sign of Grant. He swears.

“Grant?” Bucky calls, turning to look behind them. He's trying to stay calm. Really, the store's not that big. But the open doorway leading out to the rest of the mall is right there to the left, and there's a ton of people out there. Bucky wills his heart rate to slow and forces mission calm into his blood. It doesn't happen easily.

Mission objective: find the kid. _Before someone else does_ , a very unhelpful voice in the back of his head adds. _Shut up_ , he tells that voice. Mission calm isn't happening.

Steve follows the line of hiking boots and Bucky goes around the other side of the fishing poles. There are some basketballs in a wire case; maybe he's over there. He's not. He's not by the baseball bats or the soccer cleats or the volleyball nets. Bucky's heart is thudding desperately.

“Grant?” He calls out again, eyes scanning the store at Grant-level. He turns to see if Steve's found him, but the panic on Steve's face tells him everything he needs to know. He and Steve meet up by the running shorts.

“If he went out that door...” Steve rubs the back of his neck nervously.

“I'm sure—I mean, he wouldn't,” Bucky says. “He wouldn't go out there. Right? He's too afraid of everything to go out there without us.”

“He's not afraid of everything anymore,” Steve wails. Under different circumstances, they wouldn't be lamenting the fact that Grant now feels comfortable to wander away without clutching both their hands for dear life. It's been a hard road to get here. But under these circumstances—their four-year-old alone who-knows-where—it feels like a terrible thing.

“Okay,” Bucky blows out a breath. “You stay here. Maybe ask that guy at the counter if he's seen the kid. I'm gonna go look—around.” Bucky waves toward the door. Steve bites his lip.

“Okay,” he agrees. “Good idea. You got your phone?”

“Got it,” Bucky confirms. He stands in the doorway first, scanning the immediate area. How far could he have gotten? His legs are only like a foot long. Steve's eaten sandwiches bigger than that.

Bucky remembers a fountain a few feet from the store, one of those big water fixtures people toss pennies into and no one's allowed to splash in. Grant had been severely disgruntled that there was water and he was not allowed to play in it.

He's not at the fountain. Bucky's going to lose it. He can feel sweat on his back, even though his body temperature isn't above normal. His right hand is trembling. There are so many people and Bucky's pushing against the current. Grant couldn't have done that—he must have gone the other way. So Bucky does a quick about-face and follows the crowd. He checks his phone, hoping Steve found him. Nothing.

But then a little train goes by and Bucky thinks _bingo_. He follows the train back to its “station”—a window run by a bored-looking teenager blowing bubbles and snapping her gum—but Grant isn't there. Bucky takes a deep breath and tries to focus his brain. Grant must be scared by now. When he's scared, he hides. His usual hiding places are small areas he can tuck his body into. And finally Bucky sees a random assortment of arm chairs in the middle of the mall, which abruptly makes his brain think _what the fuck_ but he doesn't spend too much time wondering because that's got to be where Grant's hiding.

The biggest problem is Grant could very well be _under_ one of those chairs, and he's unfortunately good at keeping quiet. He can breathe almost silently, which is a skill Bucky wishes no kid ever knew. “Grant?” Bucky says softly, then stops to listen. “Where are you?” Nothing. He repeats it in Russian, because sometimes when he's really scared Grant responds better to Russian.

Bucky sees the tiniest movement out of the corner of his eye and follows it. One of the armchairs is next to a garbage can, and there's a small space between the side of the chair and the trash. Grant's wedged into it. Bucky kneels in front of him.

“Grant,” he says, opening his arms, and Grant flings himself into them. Bucky lets out a long breath, his heart finally starting to slow down, and pulls out his phone to call Steve. When they get back to the sporting goods store, Steve's out front wringing his hands.

“Grant,” he calls when he sees them. He puts a hand on Grant's back and rests his head against Bucky's for a minute. “Wow, that was terrifying.”

“He's a little shook up.” Bucky manages a wry smile. It's an understatement. Grant is clinging so hard to Bucky's neck he thinks he's going to have bruises. “It's alright, kid, I got you now.”

“Was that scary?” Steve asks, rubbing a hand up and down Grant's back. Grant nods against Bucky's shoulder.

“Well,” Bucky sighs. “Guess we don't have to worry about him running off again any time soon.”

“Where was he?”

“Between a chair and a trashcan. Steve, there's a whole bunch of chairs over there. Like, armchairs. Real nice ones. What's the deal?” Bucky gestures a little and tries shifting Grant to his hip, but Grant clings tighter to his neck.

“They're _massage_ chairs,” Steve says. “You put in a quarter and they give you a massage.”

“Why here?”

“I have no idea,” Steve admits. “I didn't want to ask anyone.”

They're almost to the car when they realize they never bought anything for Sam. By now Grant's decided to break his silence with a lot of loud crying, and they're standing on the sidewalk getting bumped by impatient mall-goers.

“I could just run in really fast,” Steve suggests, dodging a handbag that would've clocked him in the ribcage.

“Don't leave!” Grant wails. Steve's fairly powerless against that argument. Someone tuts in annoyance at the way they're blocking the middle of the sidewalk and Steve makes an apologetic face.

“We could just get him a gift card,” Bucky tries, wincing as Grant tips his head _just so_ and manages to scream directly into Bucky's ear.

“We're better friends than that,” Steve protests, a little _oof_ escaping as someone bumps into him.

“We can come back later.” Bucky starts scoping out an opening in the crowd so they can keep walking.

“His birthday's in—”

“For fuck's sake, buy something online! This is the twenty-first century!” Some guy, apparently enraged by the roadblock they've caused, shrieks. Grant screams louder. Bucky gives the guy a mean look while Steve apologizes to everyone around them and they beat a hasty retreat.

They take the guy's advice and go online. Sam loves the watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I don't know if it's a northwestern-US kind of thing or if they have them everywhere, but almost every mall I've ever been to has had a section of coin-operated massage chairs. Just chillin in the middle of the mall. So strange. Is it an advertising ploy to get people hooked on massage chairs? Does shopping wear people out that badly? I have yet to get a concrete answer on this matter.


	4. Family Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took the names and some other details about Bucky's sisters from my story "My Stevie", but you don't need to read that to understand this.

“Is he asleep yet?” Bucky mutters. “If I have to listen to _Five Little Monkeys_ again the monkeys won't be the only ones with cracked heads.”

Steve glances over his shoulder to see Grant slumped over in his car seat, drooling. “Asleep,” he confirms. Bucky sighs in relief as Steve switches the iPod from Grant's playlist to one of their own. They're on hour two of a three hour drive, upstate to Glens Falls for a Barnes Family Reunion (capital letters required, apparently) they'd been invited to by Becca's daughter. Matching T-shirts are involved.

Bucky's nervous, Steve can tell. He doesn't feel like he should be invited to a family reunion when he's essentially a stranger. Everyone there will remember seeing the news footage of the metal-armed assassin who tore apart D.C. almost two years ago; he's worried everyone will be afraid of him or think he's a monster or want him to leave.

Steve doesn't really know how to deal with Bucky feeling that way, because it makes him upset, so he settles for telling Bucky that's hogwash. All of Bucky's nieces and nephews had been ecstatic to find out he was alive, though sad about what happened to him and sad their mothers weren't there to see him. They'd all grown up on stories of Bucky, Becca's daughter explained, and Steve, too. None of them had so much as batted an eye when Bucky told them, haltingly, that he and Steve were together.

“Yeah, Mama told me,” Becca's daughter, Louisa, said with a shrug. “She cried that day New York legalized gay marriage. Said she wished her boys were there to reap the benefits.”

So Bucky couldn't exactly say _no_ to a family reunion. Bucky has eight nieces and four nephews. Becca had four kids, Evelyn had two, and Joanna had six, which cracks Steve and Bucky up to no end because, as the baby of the Barnes family, she'd had the least experience with children and they both distinctly remember Joanna peering down at a neighbor's newborn and saying in a haughty, unimpressed tone, nose wrinkled, “Mama, he smells like garbage.”

He's also got some grand-nieces and nephews and even great-grand-nieces and nephews. Steve and Bucky both feel a little strange, because all of the girls' kids are older, physically, than Steve and Bucky, and even some of their kids' kids look older. Grant will be one of the youngest kids there.

After falling asleep in the car, Grant is grumpy when they finally get to the big house with a sprawling yard where Joanna and her husband lived that the kids keep for family reunions. He refuses to walk and fusses as they get him out of the car.

“Hey, Grant, we're going to meet some friends,” Steve tells him. “Some cousins.”

“Don't wanna,” Grant insists petulantly.

“Me neither,” Bucky mutters, but only loud enough for Steve to hear.

They can hear the sound of kids running around screaming, and Grant looks a little more interested once he hears that. Then they hear a gasp.

“ _They're here_!” A woman shrieks, and Steve feels Bucky tense beside him. It had taken some coaxing, but Steve convinced him to bring only one handgun and one knife. The shield's in the car because Bucky absolutely detests the idea of Steve going anywhere without it. Bucky had wanted Steve to wear a bulletproof vest under his shirt and Steve had flatly refused. Steve has to put a hand on Bucky's arm to keep him from drawing a weapon.

“Oh Lord!” A creaky voice cries out. A stooped woman comes out, leaning on a cane, and Bucky whispers,

“Becca?” faintly before he remembers Becca's gone. It's her daughter, Louise, but her voice sounds just like Becca's. She holds out her skinny little arms and wraps them up, all three of them, just the way Becca would've. Bucky's trembling a little.

“Mama would've be in heaven to see you two,” Louise says wistfully. “And look at him! Oh, those cheeks.”

Bucky can't help but tense again as she turns her attention to Grant. Steve squeezes Bucky's arm gently, reminding him that this is Becca's daughter and she won't do anything to hurt their son.

“Can you say hello?” Steve asks Grant. Grant shakes his head and Louise laughs.

“I don't blame him.” She shoots them a wink that's so reminiscent of Becca Bucky feels like the wind's knocked out of him. “Probably look like an old witch on Halloween!”

Somehow, Bucky pulls himself together and winks back at her. “Only the best looking witch this side of the Mississippi,” he promises, voice shaking only a little bit. She throws back her head when she laughs, the same way Becca did.

“Mama always said you were a charmer, James Barnes.”

Steve feels his heart squeezing a little because she really does sound just like Becca, except she hasn't bossed them around yet. Becca gave out orders more than any drill sergeant either of them had.

“Quit hogging 'em, Lees,” a younger woman demands. “My turn.”

This is Winifred, Joanna's youngest daughter, named after Bucky's mom and Steve's second mother. She looks a lot like Bucky's ma, truth be told, and she's around the same age Bucky's ma was when they went off to war, and for a second neither of them can speak around the lumps in their throats.

“Looks just like Grandma, huh?” Louise says conspiratorially as they weakly accept hugs.

“Don't call me Freddy,” Winifred warns. “That was Grandma. I'm Winnie.”

“Like a pooh bear,” a man calls out, laughing. Winnie scowls. Steve and Bucky can recognize a childhood joke when they hear it.

There's a whirlwind of introductions, and by the end of the line, Grant's perked up enough that he's smiling at the crowd. He's still nervous and not talking, though.

“And how old are you?” One of Evelyn's daughters, Lydia, asks. Grant holds up four fingers. “Four? My goodness, you're practically a grown man.”

Grant giggles and shakes his head. _Just a kid_ , he signs.

“He knows sign language?” Lydia sounds surprised. Grant turns his head so she can see his hearing aid. _We all sign, too_ , Lydia signs with a smile.

“Wow, really?” Bucky says.

“Jamie's son William is deaf,” Lydia explains, pointing to her son—named James, Bucky notes awkwardly—and his fifteen-year-old, who looks determined to set up camp at the food table. “Jamie!” She calls to her son. “Send Will over here. Bucky's boy signs.”

Steve smiles at _Bucky's boy_. Bucky catches him and rolls his eyes, though he's fighting a grin, too. It takes about two minutes of Will signing at Grant before Grant's ready to follow him around like a puppy, and he leaves Steve and Bucky behind without a backward glance.

“Come on over here.” Joanna's older son waves them over. “We've got some pictures of Ma and the aunties you probably want to see.”

They do want to see. There's a whole table of poster board covered in pictures of Becca, Evelyn, and Joanna and their families, and Steve and Bucky are transfixed. Steve makes a little noise of surprise when he sees a picture of Evelyn holding up a drawing he'd done of her before the war.

“They all talked about you two so much,” a younger woman—one of Becca's grandchildren, he thinks—tells him with a smile. “You know a collector tried to buy that off Aunt Evie? She told him what for, that's for sure.”

Steve laughs. “I don't have any trouble believing that.”

“Steve,” Bucky says softly at the other end of the table. Steve walks over and sees Bucky staring down at a picture of all three girls, young and beaming at the camera. It must've been just a few years after the war, because they hardly look any older than Steve remembers. Becca's holding Bucky's enlistment photo and Evelyn's clutching a picture of Steve before the serum.

“We made some copies of a lot of these photos.” Louise appears out of nowhere holding a flash drive. “Jamie said everyone today has digital pictures, but I suspect you'll want to print some of these out.”

“There's some of you two on there," Lydia says. “Some of Grandma and Grandpa, and lots of Bucky and the girls.”

Bucky might be crying a little, though it's subtle enough only Steve can tell. It's barely more than a hitch of his breath, but Steve wraps an arm around his waist all the same.

“Thanks,” Steve tells them sincerely, stowing the flash drive in his pocket. “So much.” When they go through it later, they'll even find some photos of Sarah Rogers, and then it's Steve's turn to cry.

Neither Steve nor Bucky have ever been to a family reunion, but the main activity seems to be eating. Steve's just glad there's a whole table of food and, according to a teenager getting thirds the same time Steve is, more in the house.

Grant is the only kid who doesn't whine when the adults tell the kids to stop their game of tag to come eat, Steve and Bucky note with smug satisfaction. He happily climbs into Steve's lap and lets Bucky feed him forkfuls of potato salad while he steals all of Steve's chips.

“You gotta eat some chicken,” Bucky tells him. He wrinkles his nose. “No, don't complain. You'll get a stomachache if you don't eat something real.”

“Daddy's not eating chicken,” Grant points out in a whisper, still shy about talking. Steve's plate is laden with chips and watermelon and three brownies.

“That's because Daddy is on plate number five,” Bucky says with a laugh.

“My metabolism is four times a normal person's!” Steve protests around a mouthful of chips. “Will's already had four plates, and he's just a kid, so technically I could easily eat sixteen plates.”

“Even you couldn't eat sixteen plates of food!” Bucky says. Steve raises an eyebrow.

“Dare me?”

“Oh, I dare you,” Bucky leans closer. “And loser has to clean up the inevitable barf once the kid's eaten too much junk.”

“Deal.” Steve narrows his eyes in mock-challenge and Bucky copies him so they sit there making fake-scowling faces at each other until Grant interrupts by shoving another chip in Steve's mouth.

There's also a lot of talking at a family reunion, they learn. Talking about baseball, talking about politics, talking about gardening. Steve joins Louise for some afternoon knitting during his break from the dare after plate nine. Bucky can already tell he won't make it to sixteen plates.

Grant suffers through half a chicken breast and some rice before eating more chips and three cookies, and once he's gone off with the other kids Bucky sees him accepting a brownie from Evie's granddaughter Emma.

Bucky's a bit at a loss once Steve and Grant both abandon him. This is, technically, his family, but he feels awkward and intimidated. Steve, of course, is impressing all the old ladies with his impeccable knitting form, polished to perfection during all the years he was stuck in bed for the winter. Grant's not talking to any of the other kids, and he's not actually playing, but he's standing on the edge of the grass watching some older kids playing soccer. They keep inviting him to play and he shakes his head no every time. Bucky feels a little swell of pride that his sisters' grandchildren are nice to a smaller kid.

Bucky used to be something of a social butterfly, he knows, but socializing is so much harder these days. At least now he can focus on the person he's talking to instead of scanning for threats and escape routes the whole time. It just seems like he has nothing to talk about with anyone. Sure, he saw last night's game, and yeah, he's got some opinions on the guy running for mayor, but he's afraid all anyone will be thinking while they talk to him is his body count or his metal arm.

He's sort of half-listening to a few conversations around him, his shoulders hunching awkwardly and his eyes focused on his plate of Grant's leftovers. He's not hungry anymore, but he pushes the food around on the plate to have something to occupy his hands. He's actually contemplating being pathetic and following Steve around like a lost puppy when Louise plops into Steve's open chair.

“So, Bucky, you and Steve live together, you have a son together—are we going to be hearing wedding bells anytime soon?” Louise gives him look that he knows she had to have learned from Becca.

“Uh...”

“Keep waiting for him to make an honest man out of me.” Steve pops up beside Bucky's chair and rests a hand easily on the back of his neck. “So I can finally get my hands on his millions.”

Bucky snorts. “Knew you were only after one thing.”

“Sure, but it probably ain't money!” Lydia crows from across the patio, making Steve blush scarlet and Bucky laugh out loud.

It's all so _nice_ , Bucky thinks. So nice to sit here with people who know his sisters and talk about them. So nice to have Steve by his side and Grant finally accepting his distant cousins' offer and kicking the ball. So nice to have an entire yard full of people happy to see him. He's grateful for their Avengers family, but it's so nice to be here with his biological family, too.

Steve loses the dare, as Bucky knew he would, and Grant does, in fact, throw up on the way home, but it happens while they're stopped at a rest stop and he's already in the bathroom anyway, so Steve doesn't have to worry about cleanup. When they get home, Natasha is already inside their apartment, watching _Dog Cops_ on their couch, and Grant snuggles into her side and falls asleep before his bath, face sticky and breath terrible.

“We got a big family,” Bucky murmurs to Steve after they're in bed.

Steve gives him a soft smile. “Yeah, we do. And they all loved you.”

“Hm.” Bucky nuzzles at Steve's hair a little. “Helped that I brought you and Grant.”

“Nah, Buck, they loved _you_. You're their blood, and you made 'em laugh, and I'm sure a few of those younger girls were wishing you weren't related.”

Bucky laughs a little. “I saw a few eyeing you and you're _not_ related.”

“Poor them, then, 'cause there's only one Barnes I want.” Steve exaggerates fluttering his eyelashes and Bucky laughs again.

“Sap,” he accuses.

“You love it.”

“I tolerate it for your ass.”

Steve can't _not_ laugh at that, so he retaliates by pinching Bucky's hip, so Bucky pinches Steve's arm, and then they wrestle around a little like they're kids again, both snorting and laughing and trying to stay quiet. They come to a mutual cease-fire after Steve knocks his elbow against the bedside table and Bucky gives him an over-dramatic, sloppy kiss to make it better. They snuggle down under the quilt and Steve's almost asleep when Bucky says,

“One of Louise's granddaughters is starting at NYU in the fall. We'll have to keep it in mind, look after her.”

Steve smiles a little and burrows closer into Bucky's neck. “Sure thing, Buck,” he says. He knows that means Bucky feels comfortable being part of a family again. And if there's one thing that never changes, it's that Bucky Barnes looks out for his family.


	5. Halloweenie

When Thor finds about “the Midgardian custom of disguise and brotherhood by way of free candies”, everything becomes all Halloween, all the time. He wants to carve pumpkins and drink spiced cider; he wants to tell ghost stories and go to haunted houses; he wants to play pranks and pick out costumes.

Luckily for Thor, Tony Stark throws a giant Halloween party every year at the Tower. Thor is almost beside himself with excitement. “Jane and I are choosing a costume together!” He'll tell anyone within earshot. And since Thor is loud, “within earshot” is a much broader specification than for anyone else.

But all this Halloween business pulls Steve and Bucky up short, because they have a three-year-old this Halloween. He comes home from daycare with coloring pages of black cats and jack-o-lanterns and ghosts and is very preoccupied with choosing a costume.

“I wanna be Superman,” he says one morning after breakfast.

“Can I be a cowboy?” He changes his mind by dinnertime.

“I'll dress up like Bot!” He exclaims while he watches Team Umizoomi before bed.

“Daddy,” he says very seriously as he's being tucked into bed. “Are we going trick-or-treating?”

Steve pauses, the red quilt of the race car bed still in his hands. “Trick-or-treating?”

“You go to people's doors and you say _trick or treat!_ and they give you candy. For free.” Grant seems to think the free part is quite the selling point, even though they've never once told him something was too expensive.

Steve half-remembers taking Bucky's sisters trick-or-treating when they were younger, but once the sugar rations hit no one did that anymore. He's been on SHIELD missions every year since thawing out at the end of October.

“Um.” Steve tries to think of how Bucky will feel about trick-or-treating. Bucky's taking his third bubble bath of the day, a sure sign that he's having a rough day but doesn't really want to talk about it. Steve's been trying to keep Grant occupied all day but the chill in the air isn't good for the asthma they discovered he was unlucky enough to inherit from Steve. Luckily, modern medicine makes asthma much easier than when Steve was a kid.

The thing is, Bucky is _not_ going to be enthusiastic about Grant knocking on random doors, even when they're with him. And letting Grant eat candy from strangers? It seems impossible that'll fly. Steve can't even really blame him. Is it likely that someone will try to hurt their kid when they're right there? Probably not. Does it still set Steve's teeth on edge that it could happen? Absolutely.

“We'll see,” Steve finally says. Grant wrinkles his nose over the side-step but hugs Bucky Bear tightly.

“Is Papa sad today?” He asks sleepily. “Papa doesn't say goodnight when he's sad.”

Steve sighs a little. It's not exactly something he can explain to a three-year-old. “A long time ago, before you were born, some bad people did really bad things to your papa,” he starts.

“And Papa got away and you got rid of the bad people together but it still hurts Papa's feelings,” Grant parrots. It's a sadly familiar tale. “Bad people did bad things to me.”

“Yes, they did.” Steve's throat tightens a little and he smooths Grant's hair back from his forehead.

“And you and Papa saved me.” Grant's eyelids are drooping now and Steve winces a little. This is the worst bedtime story of all time.

“And we're so, so happy you're here with us now,” Steve says softly.

“Nightmares,” Grant murmurs.

“Yeah, you still have nightmares sometimes,” Steve agrees. He jumps a little when Bucky is suddenly leaning over him to kiss Grant's forehead. Enhanced hearing is no match for a super assassin, apparently.

“Oh, Papa,” Grant sighs happily. “You're better.”

“Goodnight, kid,” Bucky whispers, half because Grant's mostly asleep and half because he hasn't spoken all day and doesn't want to scare Grant with how raspy his voice has gotten.

“Trick-or-treat,” Grant mumbles nonsensically as he falls asleep. Bucky gives Steve a bemused look and Steve just shrugs.

“He wants to go trick-or-treating on Halloween,” Steve says once they're in the living room, the TV volume low so it doesn't wake up Grant. “We took the girls once or twice, didn't we?”

“Mm,” Bucky hums noncommittally, which means he doesn't remember but is going to go ahead and fake it. Steve doesn't know if this one is due to the passage of time or HYDRA's fault.

“Anyway. He'd dress up and we'd take him around to houses and knock on the door and I guess people hand out candy.”

Bucky makes a face. “Random people?” He asks skeptically. “We can't even run a background check because we don't know which house he's going to?”

“I guess we could run surveillance on a few neighborhoods and only let him go to those houses,” Steve jokes. Bucky actually considers it. “No, Buck, we're not doing that. No other parents do that.”

“Yeah, well, other parents are stupid,” Bucky mutters. He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. “I don't want to be the Halloween Grinch, but that just seems like we're asking for trouble. I mean, people could poison the candy and give it out to little kids.”

“What's the advantage?” Steve asks with a shrug. “Why would they bother?”

“Aw, Stevie.” Bucky shakes his head a little. “You forget sometimes. Some people are just evil, okay? They get off on hurting people, even if there's no logical benefit to them.” His eyes are dark and Steve hates it, hates that he brought this up on a day Bucky's already struggling.

“Hey.” Steve bumps Bucky's shoulder with his own. “We'll figure something out, okay? Something where he can still have fun but he's not in any potential danger.”

 _He's always in potential danger_ , Bucky doesn't say even though he's thinking it. He likes that Steve can still see the good in the world. “Yeah,” he says. “We'll figure something out.”

 

“Is trick-or-treating safe?” Bucky blurts out one day as he and Sam clean the guns in the armory. Sam pauses, the swab still in the barrel, and raises an eyebrow.

“Grant wants to go trick-or-treating?” He guesses.

“Yeah.” Bucky focuses on the motion of his hands for a minute to center himself. “Steve thinks we should let him and I...” He blows out a breath. “All I can think of are all the things that could happen.”

Sam's quiet for a few beats. “Hypervigilance doesn't have to run your life, man.”

“I'm trying, Sam.” Bucky puts the gun down and runs a hand through his hair, probably leaving behind gun oil but not really caring. He feels a little guilty about putting Sam in counselor mode, but sometimes he just needs it and he's not scheduled to see his therapist for another week. “I'm trying so hard but I just keep thinking about everything that could happen.”

“I know. And honestly, trick-or-treating's kind of a hot topic with parents. You're supposed to do candy checks and stuff like that.”

“So it wouldn't be that weird if I didn't want him to go?” Bucky looks up at Sam, all worried and scared, and Sam wishes he had an answer.

“It's not my call,” Sam says apologetically. “You and Steve have to decide that.”

“Whether to stop sleeping in two different beds like a 1950s TV couple?” Tony says, striding into the lab they've been using for a workspace.

“You know, walking up behind people holding guns isn't usually a great idea,” Sam points out. “I don't like when you sneak up on me, Stark. You're lucky this gun's not put together.”

Tony waves an unconcerned hand. “JARVIS would've closed the doors before the bullet hit me.”

“Did you go trick-or-treating as a kid?” Bucky asks.

“Ah, yes, once or twice. Nanny took me whenever I asked but she stopped the year I got cocaine instead of candy.”

“Oh my God,” Sam mutters as Bucky crows,

“I knew it! Even Tony doesn't think it's a good idea.”

“Who said I didn't think it was a good idea?” Tony shrugs. “Free candy and the occasional teenth, yay.”

“Free candy that could be full of poison or razor blades,” Bucky says. “And who knows what kind of freaks could be behind those doors.”

Tony ponders this for a minute. “Well. I'm guessing this about that child you acquired?” He says it like he doesn't invite Grant to sit beside him in the lab and hand him things about every other day. “We could do a trick-or-treat in the Tower. Bring in some kids from the foster care system, maybe, or a hospital. Donors could take a room and kids could knock on that door to get candy.”

“Wow.” Sam sounds surprised. “That's an amazing idea.”

“Pepper's been trying to get me to do it for the last three years,” Tony admits shamelessly. “I didn't want sticky fingers infiltrating my Tower but it's too late for that, isn't it? Might as well.”

“Tony, seriously?” Bucky asks. “That's...that's amazing.”

Tony tries to act like he doesn't care. “It's good PR,” he insists, but he's already whipping out his phone to text Pepper. Sam and Bucky share a look.

“His heart's growing two sizes,” Sam teases.

“Tony wants to be BFFs with Grant,” Bucky adds.

“You guys should wear matching costumes,” Sam suggests.

“If you're okay with a cowboy getup; I think that's his latest decision.”

“I look great in leather chaps,” Tony sniffs. “So the joke's on you.”

 

The Avengers Tower Halloween Party ends up being more kid friendly than originally planned, not that it matters to Steve, but no one complains due to the large quantities of adorable costumed children running through the halls. Plus there's still free booze so most people don't mind too much that sexy nurses have to be relegated back to regular nurses.

Steve is carrying the candy bucket and Grant is wedged firmly between Steve and Bucky, holding both their hands and refusing to knock on a single door. He'd been delighted when they all put on matching Ninja Turtle costumes (“Steve, I hate this. I hate this _so_ much, Stevie. Please don't make me do this.”) and had smiled happily for pictures. He'd chattered excitedly in the elevator and squealed in delight as they'd picked up their Donatello (Sam) and their sensei Splinter (Clint), accompanied by Natasha clad in a leather skirt getup and claiming to be a warrior Steve and Bucky have never heard of named Xena and Darcy as Rosie the Riveter. Bucky's at least happy that he convinced Steve to use the shield as a shell, so if anything happens it'll be close by. Plus Bucky's got a rifle strapped to his back under the shell.

But once they got to the lobby and Grant saw all the people milling around, he clammed up. He hasn't said a word all night, and he can't even sign because he refuses to let go of Steve and Bucky's hands. Jane and Thor, dressed as Tinkerbell and Peter Pan (and wow is that a lot of green spandex Thor's wearing) come over to say hello and Grant smiles for them but still doesn't talk. He doesn't talk to Rhodey, dressed as Dracula. He doesn't talk to Coulson, dressed as Captain America (“Feels kinda weird,” Steve admits as Bucky laughs himself silly). He doesn't talk to Fury, though he is pretty interested in the pirate outfit Fury's donned. Clint actually can't stop laughing about the fact that Nick Fury dresses up for Halloween and chooses a _pirate_ costume and laughs even harder when Fury says dryly, “I already had the eye patch.”

Tony didn't even dress up; he's wearing the Iron Man suit and calling it a costume. Pepper refused to go as herself and instead is Ginny Weasley. Steve's gotten through the Harry Potter books but Bucky has to take his word for it; to him it just looks like Pepper's in a school uniform and a pointed witch's hat.

“Come on, kid, I thought you wanted to go trick-or-treating,” Bucky cajoles as Steve holds the candy bucket close to Grant's face. Grant scrunches up his face and buries his head in Bucky's leg. Bucky shoots Steve a confused look and Steve shrugs in response. Bucky lifts Grant into his arms.

“What's going on?” He asks as Grant tucks his face into Bucky's neck. “You were so excited.”

“Strangers,” Grant whispers into Bucky's ear. Bucky meets Steve's eye and nods toward the door so they can talk to Grant in the hallway. They have to walk by Wonder Woman and some kind of bunny with a battery on its back getting cozy against the wall.

“This is a children's charity event,” Steve says judgmentally, and the pair scampers off.

“Gotta keep that prude reputation, huh?” Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Well, there are _kids_ around. What was that rabbit anyway?”

“No idea, pal.” Bucky shifts Grant to his left arm so he can look at his face. “Is it better out here without all the strangers?”

Grant nods. _Strangers are scary._

“Even with us here with you?” Steve asks.

_I want to go home._

“Ah, come on, bud, what about candy?” Bucky jostles Grant a little. Grant shakes his head.

_Buy it at the store._

Steve has to stifle a laugh at that. He bites his lip. They don't want to make Grant do something he doesn't to do, but he'd been bouncing off the walls with excitement for the whole week. He's sure to have fun if they can just get him going.

“Well.” Steve shrugs. “Sam _really_ wanted to go trick-or-treating. I guess I'll have to go with him all by myself.”

 _Only for kids_. Grant cocks his head as he thinks.

“I guess we'll have to find some other kid who wants to trick-or-treat with us.” Steve feels a little like a manipulative asshole, but he justifies it by telling himself being manipulative for something Grant wanted to do in the first place isn't as bad. Grant looks utterly betrayed.

“You're _my_ daddy!” He says, apparently so jealous he's willing to talk.

“You said you didn't want to go,” Bucky reminds him. Grant frowns.

“You want to try one door and if it's awful we'll go home?” Steve suggests. Grant takes his time deciding, worrying his lower lip between his teeth in a move obviously picked up from Bucky. He finally nods.

_Just one._

“Alright. Let's find Donatello and Splinter.”  
  
Sam and Clint are the tiniest bit tipsy, but still willing to trick-or-treat. They'd signed up as volunteers to trick-or-treat with some of the kids who didn't have anyone to take them, but they finished that part of the night half an hour ago. A lot of the trick-or-treaters are done; the kid's portion of the night is winding down and the party is starting up.

“You are the cutest Michelangelo ever,” Sam declares as he knocks back the last of his “monster juice.”

“I'm Splinter so technically it's thanks to me,” Clint brags. Bucky raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything about who exactly is to thank for Grant's cuteness.

The one and only door Grant picks out is Tony's, of course. He knocks hesitantly and Tony swings the door open immediately. Pepper, Rhodey, and Bruce are all inside. Bruce, dressed as Dr. Frankenstein, has been manning the door all night to avoid the large crowd.

“Well, hello!” Tony claps his hands together and Grant smiles.

“What can I do for you?” Bruce pretends he doesn't know what Grant's after. Grant points at the bowl of candy Bruce is holding.

“Magic words?” Tony prompts.

Grant hesitates and holds tighter onto Steve's hand. He shakes his head minutely.

“Hey, no one here's a stranger,” Bucky points out. “It's okay.” Grant shakes his head again and hides his face in Steve's leg. Bucky sighs. “He's having a rough night,” he tells their friends.

“He doesn't have to say it.” Bruce starts to lower the candy bowl to Grant's height but Steve holds up a hand.

“How about signing it?” Steve asks. “Can you do that?”

Grant makes a face and looks at Clint. _How?_ Clint shows him the sign and Grant copies it, smiling shyly at Bruce as everyone cheers him on. He picks out a Reese's and looks at Steve and Bucky.

_More?_

Neither of them say “I told you so” because that would be rude and honestly it would probably be lost on him anyway. They just smile and take him around to more doors. He gets more candy than it's probably humanly possible for him to eat and by the time they circle back around to the rest of the Avengers, he's comfortable enough to whisper, “Trick or treat” and get the rest of the candy bowl emptied into his bucket.

“I think next year we can try real trick-or-treating,” Bucky says as they sift through Grant's candy. Their favorite parenting blog suggested saving most of the candy instead of letting the kid gorge on it all at once. Not that they're not sneaking a few for themselves in the process.

“Yeah?” Steve asks, kindly not asking if it's Grant or Bucky who will be ready by next year. And if half the reason Bucky feels okay about it is because Tony promised his automatic scanning candy buckets (which will screen for six different poisons and sharp objects and will be available for free at grocery stores, doctors offices, and the Stark Tower lobby) will be ready by next year, well. There's a difference between hypervigilance and wise parenting.

“I love trick-or-treating,” Steve declares as he eats his fourth mini Snickers. Grant's been passed out for over an hour, sleeping on his stomach because he refused to take off his turtle costume.

“Really? I couldn't tell.” Bucky throws an empty wrapper at Steve's head. “How's about a little trick-or-treat of our own?”

“I'm listening.” Steve even puts down the candy as Bucky grins wolfishly.

“I'll go in the bedroom and you can come knock on the door and see what awaits you.”

“Well, now I _really_ love trick-or-treating...”


	6. Goin' to the chapel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're going to need to brush your teeth after this one--pure and utter fluff.

Steve's been squirrely all day. Bucky asked him over breakfast what the deal was but he'd shrugged it off, so Bucky's letting it be. He'll talk when he's ready. Bucky and Grant race Hot Wheels cars for about two hours and Bucky's knees start to ache. Steve goes for another run.

Bucky makes lunch and Grant chatters away about a dinosaur who's best friends with an alligator and it takes Bucky longer than it should to realize he's making up the story as he goes, not just reciting a TV show or something.

“Daddy's weird today,” Grant remarks after Steve sneaks—literally sneaks, shoulders hunched and walking on tiptoes—into the kitchen to grab a banana. Bucky rolls his eyes a little, because they're in the living room and there's not even a wall between the two rooms, so he's not sure if Steve thinks he's being funny or actually believes they won't notice him.

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees. “I think he's up to something.”

“Up to something?” Grant's eyes go wide. “Like a surprise for me?”

Bucky laughs a little, because Grant's first instinct is always that he's about to get a present. “Could be,” Bucky lies; if Grant was getting a surprise Bucky would know. Grant's whole face lights up and Bucky thinks he better get a surprise for the kid now.

“I hope it's a puppy,” he sighs wistfully. He's four years old and his greatest desire is a puppy. Bucky's not sure any of them are ready for that.

Bucky's patience lasts until he crawls into bed beside Steve. Steve's pretending to be asleep, but his snores are big and fake where Steve's real snores are more like snuffling breaths. Bucky pokes him in the ribs.

“What gives?” He demands. Steve makes a big show of jumping and blinking like he's just been ripped from the depths of sleep and Bucky cracks up. Steve has never once in his entire life woken up like that.

“I was sleeping.”

“You absolutely were not.” Bucky pokes him again. “I was gonna just let you talk when you were ready but I don't care if you're ready. I'm ready.”

“That doesn't seem entirely fair.” Steve gives up the act and rolls over to face Bucky. There's a weird look in his eyes and Bucky feels a little tendril of panic. Not necessarily that he's afraid Steve's mad at him—if Steve were mad he'd just come out and say it, that's for sure—but that he can't read the expression there. Steve's not supposed to have expressions Bucky can't read.

“You're kind of freaking me out,” Bucky admits softly, and Steve instantly reaches for him and wraps him up.

“It's nothing to be scared of,” Steve promises. “I've just been thinking a lot.”

“Thought you said it was nothing to be scared of.”

Steve pinches him. “I've just been strategizing how to bring it up all day.”

“Why do you have to strategize how to bring it up?” Bucky squirms away and rises up onto an elbow. “Since when can you not just tell me something?”

Steve rubs at his forehead. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be weird, I'm just...” He shrugs and takes a deep breath. “I'm being an idiot.”

“Yeah, and the world's round,” Bucky deadpans. “Tell me something I don't know.”

Steve doesn't even laugh and Bucky swallows hard. Steve bites his lip and then moves in close to Bucky again, burying his face in the crook of Bucky's neck. “Um. I was just thinking.”

Bucky waits, but Steve doesn't go on. “That it?”

“Shut up,” Steve instructs. He's quiet for another minute, but Bucky can practically hear him thinking. “Wanna get married?” He finally asks weakly. Bucky pushes back to look at Steve's face.

“Yeah?” He asks, making sure Steve's serious.

“Yeah.”

Bucky grins. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Alright, Casanova, new word,” Bucky laughs. “Were you really worried I'd say no?”

Steve shrugs and clings to Bucky again. Bucky starts running his fingers through Steve's hair. “I don't know. I guess I just thought you might, you know, not see the point. 'Cause I don't really think anything's going to change after we're married.”

Bucky hums agreement. “Guess that's true.” He pauses for a second. “Are _you_ sure though? It's just that I...” He licks his lips.

“Very sure. Only thing I'm not sure about is why I waited so long. I mean, I'da jumped at the chance to marry you before the war, and now we actually can.”

“A lot of things are different than they were before the war,” Bucky reminds him quietly, looking at the streetlight coming in through the window and glinting off his metal fingers. Steve smiles softly and kisses his metal palm.

“Yeah. Not this, though.”

And how can Bucky not grin so wide his face hurts after that? “Okay,” he says, leaning in and rubbing their noses together. “You plan it all during your strategizing, too?”

“Nah.” Steve moves past his nose and kisses his jaw. “Wanted us to do it together.”

Bucky laughs out of sheer giddiness. “Want to go to a church? Swear it in front of God and preachers and everyone in the whole world? 'Cause I will.”

“I don't know.” Steve's grinning right back at him. “Half of me wants a big, fancy to-do and half of me wants to go to the courthouse the second it's open and not waste another second.”

Bucky takes a second to think about it. “How 'bout something in the middle?” He suggests. “Not huge, but fancy. I want everyone to know, Stevie. I want everyone there. I want Sam as your best man and flowers and dancing and Grant in a little tux with a bow tie.”

Steve laughs out loud. “Shit, he's going to look so cute.”

“Bet you won't be half bad neither.”

“Oh, it's just an excuse to get me in a tux, that it?” Steve murmurs, lips on Bucky's throat.

“Any excuse I can find to get you in a tux works for me.”

Steve looks up at Bucky, his grin blinding, and sort of sighs dreamily. “We're getting married.”

“Sure are. Gotta lock you down 'fore someone better comes along.”

“Guess we better skip the big ceremony then,” Steve teases. Bucky laughs and bites him gently, but Steve moans a little and then he's not so gentle. “Wanted to do a big proposal, you know. Champagne. Dinner. But then I thought, well, you don't really like champagne that much, and we'd have to get a sitter for Grant, and I wasn't sure you'd really want to—”

Bucky shushes him with a kiss. “We're getting married,” he echoes breathlessly.

 

“We're getting married!” Grant cries as soon as they get in the door to the common floor, where everyone's gathered waiting for their big news. Sam raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah? Who're you marrying, big guy?”

“Not _me_ ,” he giggles. “Daddy and Papa.”

It only takes one glance at the huge smiles on both Steve and Bucky's faces for everyone to believe it and then the room's full of confusion and excited yelling and congratulations.

“About damn time!” Sam scolds with a grin as he hugs Steve.

“Have you set a date?” Pepper asks, already tapping away at her StarkPhone to make arrangements. “We'll need to make reservations as soon as possible to get the best venue.”

Bucky holds up his hands. “We don't want a huge thing,” he says. “All you guys. Some of my sisters' family. Nick, obviously. Coulson, I guess, because he'll die for real if he's not at Steve's wedding.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “We don't want to wait a long time.” He slips an arm around Bucky's waist. “Shortest amount of time possible to get everything arranged. Like two weeks? Is that long enough?”

Pepper's eyes narrow in determination. “I'll make it happen.”

 

“—And then we'll release a hundred white doves—”

“No, Tony.”

“Fifty?”

“No doves.”

 

“Grant, you have to take the suit off to go to sleep. You don't want to get it all wrinkled and dirty before the big day.”

“But I'm _ready_.”

“Okay, you're ready, and you're gonna be the best ring bearer in the history of the world, but you can't sleep in your suit.”

“I have to. I'm _ready_.”

 

“Nervous?” Sam asks as he helps Steve with his tie.

“Not at all,” Steve answers honestly, smiling. “Technically I've been waiting about eighty years for this.”

Sam shakes his head, laughing a little. “That's a weird sentence.”

“Daddy!” Grant calls through the door, knocking insistently. “I can't find Bucky Bear!” Steve swings the door open and Grant plants his hands on his hips. “You can't get married without Bucky Bear.”

“Did you look in your bed?”

“ _Yes_.”

“Did you look _under_ your bed?”

“Yes, Daddy! I looked _everywhere_.” He takes his hands off his hips to throw them in the air dramatically and Steve hears Sam snort behind him.

“Everywhere?” Steve teases. “You went to Africa?”

“Daaaad.” Grant rolls his eyes.

“Grant, your daddy's gotta finish getting ready. How about I help you?” Sam suggests.

“No need.” Natasha appears in the doorway, Bucky Bear in hand. “Mission accomplished.”

“Bucky Bear!” Grant squeals. He takes the bear and thanks Natasha seriously, then adds, “You're the most beautiful girl in the whole wide world.”

Natasha laughs. “Well, thank you, Grant. Aren't you a little charmer.” She does look stunning, the black dress she's wearing tight enough to highlight her curves but not enough to reveal where she's hiding a weapon (and Steve knows she is).

“Alpha is in position,” Natasha reports with a smile. “And he wants to know, and I quote him directly here, if Bravo is going to be ready sometime this century or if he has to wait for another one.”

“Oh, please.” Steve rolls his eyes. “He's only ready first because he started before me. You have never seen a man take so long on his hair in your life. And I thought _I_ was Alpha.”

Natasha shrugs. “I'm his maid of honor-slash-best woman. He's Alpha to me.”

“Fair enough.” Steve sweeps his hair to the side the way Bucky likes and straightens his shoulders. “I'm ready.” He can't fight the grin that overtakes his face and Sam laughs.

“A bit eager, there, huh Cap?”

“Very,” Steve agrees shamelessly. They leave the apartment and take the elevator to the rooftop garden. They'd debated locations for a few days, finally agreeing on the rooftop garden at the Tower because it's gorgeous and private but enough space to fit their friends. It's just hitting dusk, and the sunset is bathing everything in hazy orange and pink.

And there's Bucky, leaning against a tree looking lazily gorgeous, like a supermodel. He looks Steve up and down, smirking. He saunters over. “Hey there, soldier. Got a dance partner for the night?”

“Ah, just some knucklehead I met a while back.”

“Oh, yeah? Want to run away with me?” His grin is the best thing Steve's ever seen.

“Love to,” Steve tells him, leaning in for a kiss. There's a tutting sound behind them.

“You can't wait twenty minutes?” Tony asks judgmentally.

“Can't wait twenty seconds.” Bucky ignores him and plants one on Steve, who laughs.

“Alright, no more until we're married,” he scolds. Bucky slips his hand into Steve's and squeezes his fingers.

“I guess I can accept that.”

They grin dopily at one another for another minute before Grant interrupts to ask, “When are we eating dinner?”

“You are your father's son,” Bucky sighs. “Can we get married first?”

“Can you hurry up?” Grant counters. “I wanna eat cake.”

“Now you're your other father's son,” Steve mutters. Bucky elbows him ever so gently.

And then it's time to take their places on either side of a giant arch Stark set up. Steve keeps laughing because he's so excited and it makes Bucky laugh, so they're standing there giggling at each other like at Christmas mass when they were twelve and some of the gathered crowd _awws_ at them. Louise is there in the front row, snapping pictures, and Winifred gives them a double thumb's-up.

Bruce is their officiator, because he makes them both feel calm and they wanted it to be someone they know. They do traditional vows, not adding their own because anything they'd say they've told each other before and they're not huge fans of everyone hearing them get sappy.

Grant takes his ring-bearing duty very seriously and doesn't even crack a smile at the crowd murmuring over how adorable he is, just walks steadily with his chin lifted. He does, however, smile at Steve and Bucky. Once they exchange rings, they each hold one of Grant's hands.

“Go ahead and kiss,” Bruce tells them with a chuckle, and Louise and Winnie whoop at them from the front row. Steve blushes but they do as they're told, maybe a little too enthusiastically because Grant tugs impatiently on their hands.

“Quit kissin',” he demands. “I wanna eat cake.” Everyone laughs and he preens at the crowd.

They manage to get some dinner in Grant before it's time to cut the cake, and Bucky ignores Tony's, “Shove the cake in Cap's face! Come on, Cap, have some fun!” The only person they feed cake to is Grant.

Steve's watching Bucky out on the dance floor where he's twirling Darcy while Grant giggles in Pepper's arms when Nick Fury comes up and settles against the wall beside him.

“Well, Cap, looks like everything's turning up aces.”

Steve laughs a little. “Yeah,” he says. “It does.”

“You know they're gonna make you dance.”

“I know,” Steve sighs. “Bucky'll never let me get out of it.” They watch in comfortable silence while Rhodey cuts in to dance with Pepper and Thor picks Grant up to twirl him around.

“I know waking up wasn't everything you wanted,” Fury says quietly. “And things didn't exactly go smoothly for a while.”

Steve blinks at him. “Are you...apologizing? None of that was your fault, Nick. Well, except the way I woke up.”

Fury nods his assent. “But things worked out alright.”

Steve looks over to see Bucky scoop Grant up and start jitter-bugging. Darcy copies his moves while Rhodey, Pepper, and Bruce cheer. Thor is dipping Jane while Sam, Clint, and Tony conspire about something in the corner—probably a prank—until Natasha gives them a dark look and they spring apart guiltily. Natasha grabs Clint's hand and leads him to the dance floor.

“Things worked out alright,” Steve echoes with a soft smile. Bucky meets his eyes and starts wiggling his eyebrows.

“Stevie,” he calls, crooking a finger to get Steve to come closer. Steve shakes his head and stubbornly stays put.

“I'm fine over here.”

“Stevie,” Bucky repeats chidingly. He dances his way across the rooftop to Steve, the fairy lights catching on his metal fingers and making his eyes shine. Steve can't fight the grin tugging at his lips at the sight as Bucky shimmies closer. He hooks a finger in Steve's tie and tugs.

“You gonna leave your husband all alone in the middle of the dance floor?”

“I like watching you,” Steve tries to protest weakly, but he knows it's a lost cause. He throws Fury a rueful look. Fury just laughs and gives Tony some kind of signal. Steve gets the feeling he was a little bit set up.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Tony booms over the sound system. “Mr. and Mr. Barnes-Rogers are going to do a little old-man shuffle for us!”

The whole floor clears out and Steve groans, dropping his head to Bucky's shoulder. Bucky, of course, is loving every second. Grant claps from his perch in Sam's arms and calls out, “Dance!” The stereo system crackles a little and then Bea Wain starts singing “Heart and Soul” with Larry Clinton's orchestra.

“Buck,” Steve laughs. “You pick this?” They're not keeping time very well; it's not really a fast song but not exactly slow, either, and they're mostly just swaying with their arms wrapped around each other.

“'Course I did.” Bucky rests his head against Steve's. “First song we ever danced to.”

“Don't know if you could call that dancing,” Steve reminds him.

“My toes were never the same,” Bucky agrees with a little laugh. “But my lips weren't either, so I think it's an okay deal.”

“You getting sappy on me?” Steve demands, unable to keep the smile off his face or out of his voice. Bucky can't actually see him, with the way their cheeks are pressed together, but he can feel it and Steve feels Bucky smile in return.

“Maybe just tonight,” he murmurs. “Only get one wedding night.”

Steve turns his head and kisses him. “Better only get one.”

Later, Steve coaxes Peggy out of her chair, despite her protests that she's too old, and they have a slow dance. Steve catches sight of Bucky over Peggy's shoulder, and the open adoration on his face makes Steve's breath catch in his throat. He never would've believed they'd make it here, that they'd get to have this life, but nothing's ever made him happier.


	7. Let It Snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Complete and utter fluff, because it's necessary.

When Bucky wakes up to find snow outside the window, he's a little surprised he hasn't heard any excited yelling from Grant. Bucky remembers bouncing into his parents' bedroom at five years old to demand he be let out to play in the fresh powder covering the street.

“Grant, did you see the snow?” Bucky asks as they eat breakfast. Grant shrugs.

“Snow is bad,” he declares. Steve and Bucky share a confused look.

“Why is snow bad?” Steve asks.

“If you have to run away in the snow you can slip and fall. And cars can't drive so if you have bad people chasing you you can't drive away.”

Steve's eyes immediately go downcast at the idea that their three-year-old is worried about the tactical disadvantages of the weather.

“Well, that's true,” Bucky says, because he feels like Grant should get points for being right. “But we're not going to be running away from anyone. No bad people are going to chase us. So snow doesn't have to be bad.”

Grant looks up from his pancakes, eyes narrowed in thought. “Snow is cold,” he counters.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “But we have big coats and mittens.”

Grant considers this for a minute. “So what?”

“Soooo.” Bucky winks at him and he giggles. “Let's go play in the snow! Build a snowman.”

It doesn't really take much coaxing to get Grant outside; his default setting is wanting to play outside. He obediently lets them wrap him in layer after layer of cold weather gear but does let out a little huff when Bucky adds one last coat before they can take the elevator up to the rooftop garden.

He's not so sure about walking in the snow.

“I'm sinking!” He shrieks. Steve and Bucky work really hard not to laugh, they really do, but they fail. “Help me!” Grant insists, not in the least amused. Steve and Bucky each take one of Grant's arms and lift him up out of the thick snow.

“It's okay,” Steve tries to assure him. “You'll just touch the ground if you sink through the snow.”

“I don't like it,” Grant whines. “When will it go away?”

“Sorry, kid.” Bucky shrugs. “Probably here to stay until spring.”

Grant plops down, falling on his little butt, so heavily padded by three layers of pants, and starts to cry. “I want it to go away!”

Bucky scoops up a handful of snow and tosses it into Steve's face. Steve sputters and and Grant stops crying, tilting his head as he considers the scene in front of him.

“Oh, you're gonna pay for that!” Steve screeches, bending down to make his own snowball. Bucky zig-zags away, laughing, and Grant tentatively stands up.

“You'll never catch me!” Bucky tosses over his shoulder, turning his head just in time to be pelted by a snowball. He gasps out a laugh, Steve's evil cackle ringing in his ear, and shoots a glance at Grant, who's slowly starting to smile.

“Are we gonna stand for that, Grant?” Bucky puts his hands on his hips. “This means war!”

“Grant's on _my_ side,” Steve argues. “Blonds against brunets.”

“Multilinguals versus monolinguals,” Bucky counters.

“I speak more than one language!” Steve insists.

“Your awful French doesn't count. You can say, like, four phrases and sing a bunch of dirty songs.”

“I think that counts. Besides, I've got signing, too.”

Grant interrupts by throwing a loose handful of snow at both of them. “Every man for himself,” he declares solemnly, surprising Steve and Bucky into incredulous laughter. He's obviously been spending a lot of time with Clint, to pick up that phrase.

“Make a ball before you throw it,” Steve instructs, demonstrating and gently lobbing the ball at Grant. Grant screams as the ball hits his leg, jumping up and down and laughing.

“Daddy, you hit me!”

“Get him back!” Bucky urges. Steve pretends to be running away, covertly running closer to Grant and allowing himself to be hit in the stomach by the mostly-aimless throw Grant sends his way. Steve grabs his middle dramatically.

“I've been hit!”

“Now you've been hit twice.” Bucky smirks wickedly as he dumps a handful of snow down Steve's back. Steve yelps and shoves Bucky, sending him sprawling, and Steve promptly covers him with his own body and shoves his face into the snow. Grant jumps on top of Steve, his war cry a mostly incomprehensible mix of English and Russian in his excitement. The three of them wrestle around in the snow for a few minutes before Bucky calls out a truce.

“Since we're down here, might as well make snow angels,” he points out. Steve laughs at him.

“Remember that time—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky grumbles good-naturedly, already knowing which story Steve's bringing up. When Steve and Bucky were sixteen, Evelyn had walked out to the otherwise deserted courtyard outside their apartment to find them on the ground, Steve on top of Bucky. Bucky had insisted he was teaching Steve to make snow angels. Evelyn, seven at the time, had believed him wholeheartedly and spent the next ten minutes giving Steve pointers.

They teach Grant how to spread his arms and legs to make the shape of the angel. He wrinkles his nose as he looks down at it. “That's an angel?” He asks skeptically.

“You don't think it looks like an angel?” Steve counters. Grant shrugs.

“I've never seen an angel,” he admits.

Out of Grant's sight, Bucky lets a hand drift to Steve's ass and gives a little pinch. “Oh, but your daddy's an angel,” he says in an overly innocent voice. Steve elbows him but is laughing hard enough not to make a comeback.

Just then, a barrage of snowballs suddenly erupts around them. Steve and Bucky huddle over Grant, looking around for the source of the assault. Sam, Natasha, and Clint peek out from behind a snow-covered shrub.

“Oh, it's on,” Steve growls. The fight that follows is fierce and dirty. Steve and Bucky are not above using their son as a human shield, and Natasha is not above hurling snowballs below the belt. When they finally agree on a ceasefire, everyone is pink-cheeked and snow-splattered, breathless and smiling.

“Snowman time?” Sam asks.

“I don't know how,” Grant confesses.

“Don't you worry, G-man.” Sam scoops Grant up and carries him away from their war zone to a more open area of the rooftop. “I happen to be a professional snowman builder.”

Their snowman ends up being huge and a bit lumpy. Bucky and Clint keep goading each other into rolling the ball for the base of the snowman larger and larger, so they have to make the other two sections match. Natasha pulls the beanie off her head to bestow on their new friend, whom Grant has inexplicably named Herman.

“Won't you be cold?” Grant asks, wide-eyed with awe at the fact that she just gave up her own hat.

Natasha laughs a little. “The cold never bothered me anyway.” She raises an eyebrow, daring anyone to call her out on her Disney quote. No one dares.

Pepper and Tony come out just then, Pepper bearing a carrot for Herman's nose and Tony with two arms that look suspiciously like spare robot parts. Bruce and Thor soon follow, with a scarf and a pipe. Thor laughs every time he looks at the snowman.

“It's a Midgardian Frost Giant, though less ferocious than those in Asgard. And not alive,” he says, prompting Clint and Sam to belt “Frosty the Snowman” at the top of their lungs. Grant laughs and asks them to sing it again, wrinkling his nose in confusion.

“This is a serious gap in education,” Clint scolds Steve and Bucky. “Your kid is three and doesn't know Frosty.”

“I'm ninety-eight and I don't know Frosty,” Steve snarks, making Bucky snort.

“Musta been after our time,” Bucky adds with a shrug.

“But _everyone_ knows Frosty!”

“Ice,” Steve explains.

“Murder and cryofreeze.”

Steve gives Bucky a dirty look. “You could have just said cryofreeze.”

“It doesn't quite get the point across as well.”

“We all know the point already.”

“Stop trying to erase my history, Steve,” Bucky laughs. It's a little surreal to be joking about what happened to him, but he likes it. He likes laughing more than the usual throbbing ache he feels about his past.

“Can Herman come inside?” Grant asks.

“He'll melt inside.” Bruce smiles apologetically. “Herman's natural habitat is outside in the snow.”

“Though I _could_ make a special snow room...” Tony muses.

“No.” Pepper doesn't even look up from her phone as she snaps a picture of Grant with the snowman.

“Maybe next year, kid.”

They go inside for hot chocolate and Grant giggles when the whipped cream ends up on the tip of his nose. He watches, fascinated, as Bruce and Thor drop mini-marshmallows into their cups and requests some of his own. Clint then maturely engages Grant in a contest to see who can stuff the most marshmallows in his mouth. He's distracted enough not to notice the little addition Tony puts in _his_ cup, which would definitely not be allowed in Grant's.

“So, did you change your mind about the snow?” Steve teases as they ride the elevator up to their floor.

“I love snow!” Grant cheers. “When can we go back outside?”

“Let's eat lunch,” Bucky deflects. He and Steve aren't quite as enthusiastic about the snow as Grant.

“I want to sleep in the snow!”

“I wouldn't recommend it,” Steve mutters.

Grant refuses to take off his many layers of snow gear, because he's insistent that they'll go back outside after lunch, “to visit Herman” and to keep playing. Steve and Bucky share an exasperated eye-roll, though neither are able to keep the fond smiles off their faces. As they watch Grant fling the window open so he can eat lunch with the snow, Bucky shakes his head ruefully.

“We've created a monster.”


	8. A Wonderful Christmastime

“Daddy.” Grant is uncharacteristically solemn when Steve picks him up from SHIELD daycare.

“What's up?” Steve asks.

“Does Santa have clearance?”

“Uh...clearance for what?” Steve coughs to cover up a laugh.

“To get in the Tower. Does Tony have Santa's eyes so he can get in?” Grant is looking up at Steve with so much concern Steve almost starts to feel a little worried himself.

“Well. Did you ask JARVIS?” Steve deflects. He's not sure how comfortable he is with feeding his kid the Santa Claus line. His mother hadn't bothered; he never heard about Santa until he started school. Bucky, of course, had always been a wise-ass know-it-all, but with his younger sisters, he'd been sworn to secrecy.

Steve and Bucky have a blanket agreement not to lie to Grant; they explain things as best they can so he can understand and sometimes tell him they'll explain more when he's older, but they want him to know they'll always give him straight answers so he won't someday find other sources of information.

“JARVIS said ask you.” Grant narrows his eyes. He doesn't like when they play this game, where they bounce him around different sources in an effort to deflect questions.

“Thanks a lot,” Steve mutters toward the ceiling. “Let's see if Papa knows,” Steve suggests. He's so not above throwing Bucky under the bus.

“Papa!” Grant bellows before the front door is even all the way open. “Papa, I need help!”

Bucky comes skidding out of laundry room, Grant's favorite blanket over his shoulder. They have to wash it while he's gone because he somehow got in his head that the washing machine will eat it. “What's wrong?”

“Can Santa get in our house?”

Bucky blinks down at Grant, then looks up at Steve, an eyebrow raised. “Santa?”

“Santa Claus,” Grant clarifies, in case Bucky thought they were talking about a different Santa.

“He's worried Santa doesn't have the clearance and won't pass a retinal scan,” Steve fills Bucky in cheerfully. Bucky makes a face at him.

“Where'd you hear about Santa?” He asks Grant.

“Daycare.” Grant waves a coloring page around. “He brings presents on Christmas. Only if you're good.” His eyes suddenly go wide. “Am I good?”

“You're great,” Bucky says distractedly, trying to communicate silently with Steve before Grant needs an answer. Steve shrugs, trying to tell Bucky he doesn't really care that much. Santa doesn't seem to be a big lie, exactly, and he doesn't see how they're going to get around it until Grant's old enough to understand about make believe.

“But am I _good_?” Grant insists. “Do I get presents?”

“Yeah, Grant, you'll be swimming in 'em.”

Steve shrugs again and Bucky shrugs back and then they each urge the other to be the one to agree to the Santa lie. Bucky shakes his head and raises his chin at Steve. Steve rolls his eyes and Bucky mouths _Bubble Guppies_ because he'd tackled the Bubble Guppies Crisis when Grant was asking if his friends on the TV were really his friends. Steve sighs.

“Tony gets lots of presents, Grant, so I'm sure Santa's got clearance to get in.”

“Good.” Grant relaxes. “Are we gonna build a chimney?”

Bucky gives Steve a look. “A chimney?” He repeats.

“Santa comes down the chimney.” Grant gives them both an assessing look. “No Santa? Do we have a neroara?”

“A what?” Steve asks. Grant huffs and puts his hands on his hips.

“For _candles_ ,” he specifies. “Veronica.”

Steve and Bucky are both mystified for another second, Steve muttering _who is Veronica_ , but then Bucky starts laughing so hard it takes him a minute to speak. “A menorah?” He asks. “For Hanukkah?” Steve starts laughing, too, and Grant makes an annoyed sound.

“Yeah,” Grant agrees impatiently. “Veronica doesn't have Santa.” Steve thinks he should probably not be laughing; Grant's speech problems are tied to his deaf ear and Steve knows too well how hard it can be to pick out individual words when people don't enunciate clearly, but it is, frankly, kind of adorable and Steve can't seem to stop himself.

“No, we're not Jewish,” Bucky tells him. “Hanukkah's a Jewish holiday.”

Grant looks unimpressed and Steve takes pity on him; he knows the underlying concern here is not what holiday they'll be celebrating but rather the method in which Grant will get presents.

“We're doing Christmas,” Steve promises. “Santa won't need a chimney to get in the Tower. He can just take the elevator. That way he can get to everyone else's floors, too.”

“I need to send him a letter,” Grant declares, heading to his room. “Will you help me?” He doesn't even specify who he's talking to; either he doesn't care which father helps him, or he knows both will. Steve would like to think it's the latter, but he's learned enough about his son to know it's probably the former. Grant also doesn't wait for an answer, just ducks into his room to kick off his shoes—they hear them _thwack thwack_ against his closer door—and grab a notebook.

Bucky blows out a breath. “I guess Christmas is coming up.”

“Yeah.” Steve pretends he was caught unawares too and that he didn't buy Bucky's present two months ago.

“Stevie, I forgot about Christmas.” Bucky sounds hesitant, like he's worried it'll hurt Steve's feelings.

“Well, you weren't really in a place to celebrate it last year,” Steve reminds him gently. “Or, you know, any of the years before.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Can't believe I forgot about Christmas,” he murmurs, brow wrinkling in guilt and worry. Steve wraps his arms around Bucky's waist from behind, hooks his chin over Bucky's shoulder.

“You remember it now,” Steve reassures him. “We got plenty of time to do Christmas stuff.”

“We need a tree.” Bucky rests his head against Steve's.

“We don't have any ornaments,” Steve realizes.

“We never did before,” Bucky reminds him with a little laugh. “Remember making popcorn strings?”

Steve laughs softly. “Ruined our good needle.”

“Had holes in my socks for months.”

“We can afford 'em now,” Steve points out. “We could have a real fancy tree, like the Murphys had in their window.”

Bucky hums in consideration. “We could still make some, too.”

Steve doesn't fight the grin that takes over his face. “Salt dough hand prints?” He suggests. They both laugh, thinking of school art projects and poor mothers doing their best to brighten up the season.

“I'm ready!” Grant declares behind them. “Santa needs to know what to bring me.”

Bucky snorts. “Yeah, he sure does.”

 

The Tower, of course, has a giant Christmas tree in the lobby that's professionally decorated, and it goes along with some charity where people drop off presents for poor kids. Bucky keeps catching Steve taking the little scraps of paper that describe the kids and what they've asked for; by the time the charity ends, most of the presents have the same wrapping paper because Steve and Bucky bought presents for over half the kids. They had Grant help them pick out the presents and explained to him that some kids wouldn't be getting many presents. Steve had forgotten that Grant knows all about not getting presents on Christmas.

"Are these kids with the bad people who don't give presents?" Grant had asked solemnly. Bucky had almost broken the Captain America action figure in his hand and Steve had almost cried.

But the communal floor of the Tower has a sad, scrawny little tree that Clint brought in and the whole team decorates. Thor and Grant get the most into it, while everyone else eats cookies and drinks eggnog. Tony calls out good-natured criticism and pretends to be annoyed when Grant tugs at his hand to make him come help.

“He'll put too many on the right side,” Rhodey warns in an undertone. “He got to decorate the right side of my tree when we were kids and he _always_ tried to get more decorations on his side.”

“He helped decorate your tree?” Steve asks, surprised. “His family didn't have one?”

“They had one.” Rhodey's eyes get a little dark. “Tony wasn't allowed to touch it.”

Steve looks over at Grant, sitting on Thor's shoulders to reach the higher branches, giggling like mad with tinsel in his hair, and then at Tony, who's putting the tinsel in Grant's hair and complaining through a grin about how ridiculous decorating a dumb tree is.

“Howard was a prick,” Bucky puts in his two cents. Rhodey laughs and Steve frowns. It's not that he doesn't agree with Bucky—he does, he absolutely does, after everything he's heard about how Tony grew up—but he doesn't understand how Howard could have treated his own son that way. He sort of wishes he'd been around to give Howard a talking to.

Natasha and Sam seem to be embroiled in a cookie decorating contest, which Clint and Darcy are “judging”—really, they're just cramming cookies into their mouths as fast as Natasha and Sam set them down—and Bruce and Jane are talking excitedly about something light years over Steve's head.

Pepper catches Steve's eye as he glances around at everyone and smiles softly. “Nice, isn't it?” She asks, gesturing around the room. Steve listens for a second as Sam calls over to Grant to come eat cookies and Grant cheers loudly.

“It's really nice,” he agrees. “Nice to have family around.”

“You getting sappy over here?” Bucky interrupts, slipping an arm around Steve's waist. His other hand is occupied by no less than three cookies.

“One of those for me?” Steve raises an eyebrow and Bucky mock-scowls at him.

“Only because I know you can't feed yourself.”

“Only because you know my self-control is better and I could turn down a cookie if I wanted,” Steve shoots back. Bucky laughs.

“Turn down an _eighth_ cookie, maybe. No way you're turning down a cookie.”

“Gingerbread man!” Grant interrupts their bickering by grabbing them both around the legs. “Sam said we could make a gingerbread man!”

“Or a gingerbread _house_ ,” Natasha counters. They're in one of their good-natured competitive moods. “Wouldn't a house be better?”

“Why not both?” Bruce suggests. “A house for the gingerbread man to live in. No reason for a gingerbread fight in a room full of adults.”

Grant, of course, eats more candy than he decorates with, and everyone laughs at his face of disgust when he nibbles on a piece of the gingerbread house.

“He is going to throw up everywhere,” Bucky says ruefully as Grant sneaks another sugar cookie. His stomach isn't the strongest, another pre-serum ailment Steve had also lived with, and three-year-olds aren't exactly known for their restraint.

“And he's never going to sleep,” Steve agrees, shaking his head.

“Party poopers.” Clint accuses. He's just bitter because he's eaten too many cookies and is rubbing his own stomach.

 

Christmas Eve is a very exciting day for Grant. He gets to play outside in the snow and go caroling with some of his daycare friends. They bake cookies to leave out for Santa and Grant insists they leave carrots for the reindeer, too. The tree in their living room is plastic, because the pine needles were making Grant's asthma act up, but it's covered in lights, strands of popcorn, and ornaments that bear the unmistakable hallmarks of being homemade—uneven glitter distribution, lopsided figurines, and Grant's tiny hand prints.

Finally, after watching _Frosty the Snowman_ (his new favorite movie since Herman the snowman) one last time with a mug of hot chocolate, Grant submits to bedtime so he can wake up sooner for his presents. Steve and Bucky share a look. Their night is just starting.

First they have to set up the train set they got for Grant. It was the number one thing he asked for in his letter to Santa, and they'd be lying if they said they'd never wanted toy trains as little boys. Then there are stockings to stuff, cookies to eat, and more presents to wrap; action figures and books and new clothes, even though Grant will wrinkle his nose in distaste. Bucky and Steve crack each other up gnawing on the carrots so Grant thinks the reindeer chewed on them.

Grant wakes up nice and early Christmas morning. They'd given him strict instructions to stay in his room until they gave him the all clear, since his train set isn't wrapped and is just waiting to be turned on, so he obediently yells out to them from his bedroom.

“Daddy! Papa! It's morning now!” He helpfully accentuates this announcement by pounding his little hands on the wall, in case his words alone didn't wake them up.

Bucky squints at the alarm clock. It's 5:30. “This doesn't count as morning,” he groans.

“Aw, come on, Buck, you used to do the same thing,” Steve reminds him. Steve's hair is sticking up on one side and for a second his eyes are so excited he hardly looks older than Grant. Bucky hits him with a pillow.

“I have never willingly woken up this early.”

“But it's _Christmas_ ,” Steve insists, tugging a shirt over his head.

“It's time for presents!” Grant bellows down the hall. Bucky groans again, long and whiny, but it's more for show than genuine sentiment.

Bucky hits the start button on the train set while Steve sets up the video camera. “Alright, Grant, come out!” Steve says excitedly. Bucky can't hold onto his bad mood with those two around.

Grant comes thundering down the hall in his old Captain America t-shirt that hangs down to the ground. He screeches when he sees the train. “A train!” He claps his hands and then drops to the ground to examine it. “Choo choo!” He spends a long time on the train, seemingly forgetting the mound of presents still under the tree. Bucky glances at the pile sheepishly. They might've gone a bit overboard.

“Do you want to open your other presents?” Steve suggests, laughing. Grant's eyes go wide.

“More?!”

He knows what a G looks like, so he dives under the tree to scoop up any presents with his name on them. He squeals every time he unwraps something, whether it's a coloring book or a set of Hot Wheels cars.

“This one is for Daddy!” Grant declares proudly. “It has a _S_ for Steve.”  
  
“That's right,” Bucky praises him. “Who's it from?”

“It's from Grant!” Grant bounces up and down and points out the awkward, shaky _G_ written on the package under Bucky's handwritten _Stevie_. "That's me.”

Steve unwraps it to find a pre-made white mug decorated with glitter and the scribbles they can tell are dogs because Grant's told them that's how he draws dogs. Steve laughs out loud because he helped Grant wrap Bucky's present, so he knows it's the exact same thing. Bucky laughs once he gets his unwrapped and they clink the mugs together.

“I made them!” Grant tells them excitedly. “Just for you!” He also made them for all the members of the team, so he doesn't really understand what _just for you_ means. He goes back to playing with his new toys and the wrapping paper as Steve and Bucky pick up their presents.

Steve starts to get a little antsy when Bucky picks up his present. Steve had scoured the internet for it, but he's still not entirely sure what Bucky will think. He unwraps it and stares down at the box in his lap for a minute.

It's a White Cat cigar box, the label peeling and scuffed, looking for all the world like the box Bucky had filched from his father when he was eight. Steve worries for a second Bucky won't remember the box they kept their treasures in; when they were younger, it was full of baseball cards and marbles, and then as they grew it was where they stashed their “adventure money”—the money they were saving up to travel to all 48 states. They never got to more than three dollars before they had to break out the stash for some emergency, sickness or rent or food, but they always dropped whatever spare pennies they could into their fund.

Bucky looks up at him, eyes soft, and Steve can tell he remembers. “Stevie,” he says, hushed.

“I guess we don't really need to save up anymore.” Steve shrugs.

Bucky lays a soft hand on Steve's cheek. “Don't think that's really the point.”

Steve smiles. “Guess not.” Bucky smiles back at him in that way that means he's marveling over Steve, and Steve ducks his head, shy about it. Bucky taps a finger against Steve's cheekbone. “Well, open yours,” he commands with a grin. Steve can see a little nervousness under his smile.

Steve stops once he's gotten the wrapping paper off and the box open. It's his old compass, the one he had in the war. He wonders if he should open it, if the picture of Peggy is still in there. He bites his lip, unsure.

“Go on,” Bucky urges softly. Steve glances at him for a second before taking a breath and opening it. It's not the same picture of Peggy—Steve figures that picture probably didn't survive the trip to the Arctic—but it's similar; she's in her SSR uniform, eyes fiery and lipstick perfect as ever.

“Buck.” Steve doesn't really know what to say.

“It was in SHIELD's storage,” Bucky says. “That picture's from her personnel file.”

Steve looks up and searches Bucky's face. He's not sure why Bucky replaced the picture; it's not like Peggy is Steve's sweetheart anymore, and Steve knows it was hard for Bucky to watch him with Peggy when they'd always meant so much to each other. Bucky had tried to hide it, but Steve knew him well enough to catch the slightly bitter edge to his teasing sometimes.

“Shouldn't it be a picture of you?” Steve asks tentatively. Bucky looks at him for a minute, contemplative in a way he so seldom was before Zola and the camp and cryofreeze and the Winter Soldier.

“She's something special, Steve. And she was your girl. She was good to you. You would've married her, if things were different. I get you now, and I'm damn happy about it, but it's okay you miss her.”

Steve's throat feels a little tight. Truth be told, he's felt guilty for a while now because he still thinks of Peggy and wonders what their life would have been like if he hadn't ended up frozen. Of course Bucky would notice and find a way to tell him it's okay. Steve doesn't know what to say, doesn't know if he could say it even if he did, so he just leans in and kisses Bucky, soft and sweet to try to speak that way. Bucky's lips curl up into a smile and Steve figures it worked okay.

Later, they eat a big dinner with the team and play in the snow some more. They take a picture in the matching Christmas sweaters Louisa knitted for them. Grant falls asleep in Bucky's lap once the grownups put on _It's a Wonderful Life_ , and Bucky and Steve are excited to see the familiar face of Jimmy Stewart.

It's a lazy day, though not quiet thanks to the fact that every single member of the team gets Grant a present that makes noise (and Sam honest to God cackles about it), and Steve doesn't think he stops grinning once. It's been a long time since he's had a Christmas this good; the first few years in this new century when he felt lonely and homesick were hard, and even before his ma died Christmas was more difficulty than celebration, with either him or Ma sick almost every year.

Bucky's resting heavily on his shoulder while Grant sprawls on the ground with his new train set, and Steve turns his head to press a kiss to Bucky's temple.

“Merry Christmas, punk,” Bucky slurs out, more asleep than awake. Steve noses around at Bucky's hair for a minute, feeling so happy his heart might burst.

“Merry Christmas, jerk.”


	9. School Daze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A kind Russian-speaker clued me in that _papochka_ is not the appropriate word, sadly, so Bucky is just Papa instead.

“Got your backpack?” Steve checks. Grant turns around so Steve can see the insignia of his shield staring back at him and he holds in a sigh. Bucky was the one to take Grant school shopping, because Steve had been in Latveria for a mission, and Grant had come back with an awful lot of Captain America merchandise.

“Lunch?” Bucky asks. Grant reaches back and pats his backpack.

“In here,” he reports. “Let's _go_.”

“Did you get your pencils?” Steve asks desperately. Grant huffs.

“In my _backpack_ ,” he whines. “I wanna go to school now!”

Bucky and Steve share a look. It's Grant's first day of kindergarten, and they're an inch from falling to pieces. It seems like yesterday they brought their terrified little boy home, and now he's starting school.

“Okay,” Bucky relents. “After a picture.”

Grant tips his head back and lets out a frustrated groan but poses obediently. “Did you send it to Sam?” He asks.

“Yep.”

“And Clint?”

“And Clint.”

“And Natasha?”

“Grant, I sent it to everybody.”

“To Pepper?”

“Yes. To Pepper and Tony and Jane and Thor and Darcy and Rhodey and Bruce and Peter and Peggy and Louise. I even sent it to Nick.”

“Okay.” Grant smiles, satisfied that all the adults in his life have now seen his picture. “Can I go to school now?”

They ride the elevator down to the garage, where the car they'd somewhat sadly bought waits for them. It's a totally normal, nondescript sedan, and it looks completely underwhelming next to Tony's collection of vintage sports cars.

Steve drives, because his road rage is less likely to end in a broken window than Bucky's (though only by a little), and Grant chatters excitedly in the backseat about how excited he is for school and how he hopes his teacher is nice.

Grant's been spending a few days a week at the SHIELD daycare for two years now, but there's a big difference between two hours three days a week and all-day kindergarten. _All day_. He's going to be gone from 8:30 until 2:00. It seems far too long for a little boy.

Or maybe it's just far too long for his parents.

They park and Grant holds both of their hands as they lead him to his classroom. He's getting gradually quieter as they approach and peeks into the open door of his classroom with wide eyes. It looks nice, Bucky has to admit grudgingly. It's colorful and there are low tables with little kid chairs and posters of animals and the letters of the alphabet.

“Ready?” Steve asks. Grant suddenly surges forward and clings to Steve's leg, shaking his head.

“Hey, I thought you were excited for school,” Bucky says. Grant's breathing hitches a little as he tries not to cry.

 _Take me home_ , he signs frantically. He hardly ever signs anymore, except when he's with Clint, so it's not really an encouraging thing to see.

Both Steve and Bucky crouch down so they're at Grant's level, and he pushes himself into the little space between their shoulders so he can fling an arm around both their necks.

“It's alright, kid,” Bucky says softly. “No one's going to hurt you.”

“It's okay to be a little scared,” Steve adds. “I bet all the other kids in your class are scared, too.” Grant just squeaks a little and shakes his head again. Bucky cranes his neck to look at Steve around Grant's head. Steve shrugs helplessly.

“Hello there.” A middle-aged woman with a name tag proclaiming _Mrs. Garza_ claps her hands together once. Grant doesn't move and Steve smiles apologetically while Bucky rubs Grant's back.

“He's a little nervous,” Steve says. Mrs. Garza smiles.

“Well, I'm Mrs. Garza.” She's mostly addressing Grant's back. “And I'm your teacher. And you know what?” She leans forward a little, conspiratorially. “I’m a little nervous too.”

Grant turns around slowly, eyes narrowed suspiciously. _You're a grownup,_ he signs.

“Hey, grownups get scared,” Bucky reminds him. “You've seen me get scared all the time.”

“Me, too,” Steve adds.

_Only from nightmares._

“I got pretty scared when you fell off that high balance beam at gymnastics last week,” Steve says.

“And I get scared every time Daddy goes—uh, to work,” Bucky says softly, glancing quickly at Mrs. Garza. It's not like she doesn't already know who Steve is and what _work_ generally entails for him, but still. It's nice to maintain some semblance of secrecy.

“And I get scared when Papa goes,” Steve counters. Grant purses his lips, thinking, still leaning back against their shoulders but looking at Mrs. Garza now.

“What's your name?” She asks. He looks at Bucky and then at Steve, and they both nod encouragingly. He finger spells his name and she smiles sheepishly.

“I'm sorry, I don't know sign language,” she says.

“Can you say it?” Bucky murmurs into Grant's ear. Grant makes a little whining sound and bites his lip.

“Grant James Barnes-Rogers,” he whispers. For some reason Grant always reports his full name when asked. Bucky looks at her a little warily; they'd had a lengthy meeting with her once they found out she was Grant's teacher, telling her a bit about what had happened to him, and so far it doesn't seem like she's sold them out to any paparazzi, but Bucky still doesn't trust her fully.

“Grant,” Mrs. Garza repeats. She hasn't stopped smiling this whole time. “That's a very nice name. Do you like blocks, Grant?”

Grant shrugs, scuffing a brand-new show against the tiled floor. Steve squeezes Grant's hand. “He really likes to draw and color,” he supplies.

“Oh, an artist.” Mrs. Garza gestures inside. “We have art time this afternoon. You can try painting.”

Grant looks into the room. “You have paints?” He barely raises his voice above a whisper.

“Yes, and we do art time after reading time.”

“I know how to read a little,” Grant admits, halfway between shy and proud.

“You do?” Mrs. Garza sounds appropriately impressed and Grant smiles. “That's wonderful. Do you want to go inside and find your seat?”

Grant takes a deep breath and blows it out, ruffling his hair off his forehead. “Can Daddy and Papa come?”

“Of course they can,” Mrs. Garza says graciously, and Grant nods once. Steve and Bucky stand and he grabs their hands again, ducking his head a little when the kids already inside look at him curiously. Steve looks at each kids' face, wondering if any of them will tease Grant for his hearing aid. Bucky scopes them all out, committing the names on their name tags to memory just in case.

“Here's your seat, Grant.” Mrs. Garza points to a seat at a table. There's a little boy already sitting in the chair next to Grant's, a few tear tracks visible on his face beneath his thick glasses, but he's coloring quietly. “This is Will, your table buddy.”

Will looks up and stares and Grant. “Hi,” he says softly.

“Hi,” Grant answers, looking down at the floor.

Neither boy says anything more. “Do you want to put your backpack in your cubby, Grant?” Mrs. Garza asks. Grant holds onto the straps.

“My pencils,” he whispers to Bucky.

“You can take the pencils out,” Bucky tells him, unzipping it while it's still on Grant's back. Grant hesitantly shrugs it off and reaches in to get the pencils. They're colored pencils, and each pencil is a different Avenger—Iron Man Red, Captain America Blue, Hawkeye Purple, Hulk Green, Black Widow Black, and Thor Yellow. Steve's still offended there's no Winter Soldier or Falcon pencils yet.

“Avengers,” Will says with a lisp.

“I like the 'vengers,” Grant tells him.

“Me too,” Will offers. Grant looks down at his pencils and then over at Will's picture.

“Do you want to color with my pencils?” Grant asks. He does not sound enthusiastic whatsoever about the offer.

Will stares at the pencils for a minute. “Who's your favorite?”

“Captain America. My daddy has a shield just like him,” Grant answers immediately. Mrs. Garza makes a quiet sound that's unmistakably a laugh and Bucky catches her eye with a smirk while Steve rolls his eyes a little.

“I like Hulk,” Will says.

“I like everybody,” Grant clarifies. “But I like Captain America best.” He looks at Will for a minute. “You can use green.”

“Thanks,” Will says, smiling. Steve squeezes Grant shoulder. They find Grant's cubby and go back to the table so he can get started on a coloring page.

“Alright, kid.” Bucky kneels beside Grant's chair. “Daddy and I are going to go now.”

“We'll be back to pick you up after school,” Steve promises. Grant's lip starts to tremble a little and he clutches Captain America Blue tight to his chest.

“Can you stay?” He asks. Bucky can't stand it and he wants to say screw it all and take Grant home, but he knows it's important for him to stay here. Steve smiles gently and runs a hand through Grant's hair.

“We can't stay,” he tells Grant softly. “But we'll miss you all day.”

Bucky gives Grant a tight hug. “You'll be okay,” he says. “I promise.”

“You can do it, Grant,” Steve assures him, leaning down to drop a kiss into his hair. “You're a brave boy.”

Grant squares his little shoulders and juts his chin up. “Okay,” he whispers.

Suddenly, Bucky flashes back to leaving Steve sick in bed when they were about eleven and what Steve had done to make Bucky feel better. Bucky reaches into his pocket and finds a nickel.

“Here.” He hands it to Grant. “This was in my pocket and now you're going to hold it. If you get sad while you're here just close your eyes and hold the nickel and I'll be thinking of you. 'Kay?”

Grant closes his fist around the nickel and nods. Steve looks at Bucky with a soft smile on his face, obviously remembering where Bucky got the idea. They turn to leave and pause at the door.

“He'll be just fine,” Mrs. Garza promises. “By the time you come to pick him up, he'll wish the day was longer.”

“Thanks,” Steve tells her, giving her his best earnest Captain America face, but Bucky can tell Steve's thinking the same thing he is—that's bullshit. Grant's going to spend all day in a strange place without even his Bucky Bear, and even though Grant's come a long way since they first brought him home, he still doesn't do very well in strange places.

“He still has a little trouble with the bathroom sometimes,” Bucky reminds her, one of the things they'd talked about in their meeting. She'd assured them he wouldn't be the only one.

“He has extra pants in his backpack,” Steve adds. “But if he has an accident, we'll probably just come pick him up, 'cause he gets real embarrassed.”

“It's all going to be okay,” she assures them kindly, smiling like she knows this might be harder on them than on Grant. “He and Will are already becoming friends.”

They look back at the little table. Sure enough, Grant and Will are sharing the Avengers pencils and giggling together.

“Well.” Bucky licks his lips. “A friend's important.”

“Only thing that can get you through school some days,” Steve agrees with a little smile for Bucky. “Not that we don't think you'll be a great teacher,” he adds quickly to Mrs. Garza. She laughs.

“Don't worry,” she says. “He'll do great.”

They take one last look back at Grant. He looks up and waves at them, one little gap in his smile from losing his front tooth two weeks ago. They wave back and say goodbye to Mrs. Garza so she can greet a little girl bawling her head off and clinging to her mother's legs.

They drive home quietly, Steve drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. When they get to the garage, they sit for a minute without getting out.

“He'll be fine,” Bucky says.

“He will.” Steve nods. They're quiet again.

“We'll be fine, too,” Bucky adds. Steve turns and smiles at him.

“Yeah, Buck, we'll be fine, too,” he says. “Like you said, a friend's important.” He rubs his thumb along Bucky's chin for a second before leaning in to kiss him. “You know, we have the whole day to ourselves,” he murmurs.

“Hmm.” Bucky feels his lips quirk up into a little smile. “You sayin' you got plans for me, Stevie?”

“Always got plans for you, Buck,” Steve says quietly, letting his hands roam a little.

“So we got a whole apartment upstairs, completely to ourselves, and you want to stay out here in this tin can?” Bucky raises an eyebrow. Steve chuckles and mouths at the hinge of Bucky's jaw.

“Kinda fun.” He shrugs. “That's a thing teenagers do now, you know. Neck in the car.”

“We never did get to do that as teenagers,” Bucky says contemplatively, hands moving to Steve's belt.

“We did have that med truck in France,” Steve reminds him.

“Oh, I forgot about that.” Bucky laughs. Steve makes a wounded noise.

“You forgot?” He echoes. “Must not've done my job well enough.”

“Better try harder this time.” Bucky's voice rumbles out of his voice, low and heated, as he pulls Steve's belt from the loops.

“Yessir, Sergeant Barnes, sir,” Steve whispers in his ear, letting his tongue brush Bucky's earlobe, and Bucky shivers. They don't, actually, end up doing much more in the car, because it's not terribly comfortable for men their size, and Steve's knee knocks the glove compartment open and one of Grant's backup inhalers is in it and they both feel a little weirded out after that, but they _do_ still have that bedroom upstairs, and they put it to extremely good use.


	10. Under the Mask

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some discussion of medical procedures in this chapter dealing with broken bones, so maybe skim if you're queasy about that.

“Captain America's on the TV again!” Grant calls out delightedly. Bucky whips his head almost without meaning to, craning his neck so he can see the TV with his arms in sudsy water.

“The bots were a low-level threat,” Steve is saying on TV, dirt and soot smudged on his face, barely visible through the cowl he's still wearing. “That's why the whole team isn't here.” Bucky wishes the camera weren't so zoomed in; he can only see from the shoulders up and he wants to check Steve for injury.

“We're certainly grateful you're here, Captain.” The reporter is smitten with him and Steve gives a polite smile.

“Captain America kinda sounds like Daddy,” Grant points out.

“Well...” Bucky clears his throat. He and Steve haven't figured out the best way to break the news to Grant that his favorite superhero is, in fact, his father. Before Bucky can think of anything, the live news footage catches his attention again.

“Cap!” Clint's voice cuts in. “Watch—”

An exploding arrow slices across the screen, taking out a giant doombot, but the reporter is directly in its path. Now that it's powered down, it's about a thousand pounds of dead weight, metal falling quickly.

“No!” Bucky yells at the TV, flinging soup suds everywhere as he jerks his hands out of the water, because he knows exactly what Steve's going to do. Steve manages to get the shrieking reporter out of the way, but he covers her with the shield and leaves himself exposed. The bot falls and takes him down, out of the frame, and he lets out a horrifying scream of pain.

“Cap is down!” Clint's voice is caught on the footage. “Stark, get here _now_.”

Bucky's got his soapy hands over his face, eyes glued to the screen. Steve hasn't gotten up. “Captain?” The reporter asks, voice trembling.

“Get up, punk. Come on,” Bucky murmurs. Clint pushes past the reporter and ducks out of sight.

“Cap. Talk to me.”

“Papa?” Grant's crying and Bucky snaps back from the terror coursing through him. “Is Cap okay?”

“Shit,” Bucky breathes. He rinses his hands quickly and dries off, then crosses over to the couch in three steps. He holds his arms out and Grant jumps over the back of the couch to nestle into Bucky's chest.

“Is he hurt?” Grant asks shakily.

“He might be,” Bucky admits, squeezing the six-year-old a little tighter than he maybe should.

“Is he gonna be okay?”

“He'll be fine,” Bucky says firmly. There's no other acceptable outcome.

“Captain America is currently unconscious,” the reporter tells the camera. Bucky wants to thank her for the information but snarl at her for using Steve's injury for a story. She at least has the decency to look pale and sick.

“Can you back up?” Clint snaps, still off-screen as he presumably crouches by Steve's side. “Give us some room.”

She actually obeys, herding her camera guy over to survey some of the property damage. She keeps casting glances over to where Steve must be.

“No, no, no!” Bucky mutters. “Lemme see him.”

His phone rings and he knows it's going to be someone from the team. He answers without looking.

“Yeah, I got the TV on.”

“Man, you okay?” Sam asks, voice shaking a little.

“I—I don't know. I can't see him. I don't know if he's...” Bucky trails off, glancing down at Grant.

“Grant up with you?” Sam notices Bucky's reluctance to say much.

“Uh huh.”

“Okay.” Sam's voice is even, and he's taking deep breaths. “It's gonna be fine. He's got those super soldier bones, you know? Jumps without parachutes, all that. Takes more than a hunk of metal to take him out. Keep me updated, huh? I'll come this weekend. Sooner if...well, this weekend.”

Iron Man lands at the scene and Steve's body finally reemerges on the screen, hanging limp in Tony's arms.

“I'll deal with cleanup crews,” Clint promises as the repulsors send Tony skyward again. “Use the comms.”

Bucky's halfway to the door before he realizes he should explain what's going on to Grant. “We're going to go downstairs,” he says, still carrying Grant and getting on the elevator. “They're going to bring him here, to the medical rooms. Remember where you got your hearing aid?”

Grant had gotten the bone anchored implant the year before, down in the Tower's medical rooms because the procedure was scary enough without having to go somewhere else. Grant nods against Bucky's shoulder.

“Why are they bringing Cap here? Is Bruce gonna take care of him?”

It's not exactly the ideal situation they'd pictured, but Bucky can't possibly hold it back anymore. “Cap's Daddy, kid. That's why Daddy has the shield and he's never here when Cap's on a mission.”

“What?” Grant gasps.

“Daddy's Cap, and Bruce is Hulk, and Tony's Iron Man, and Sam's Falcon, Rhodey's Iron Patriot...” Bucky licks his lips. “And I'm, well, I'm the Winter Soldier.” Grant already knows about Clint, Thor, and Natasha, since they don't wear masks. He just thought they were friends with his favorite superheroes.

“For Halloween?” Grant asks confusedly.

“No, buddy. For real.”

Grant seems to think that over, touching Bucky's metal elbow as he does so. Then he gasps again and looks up into Bucky's face. “Daddy's hurt?” His eyes are filling with tears again.

“We're gonna see.” Bucky feels the lump in his throat growing. “It'll be okay.”

They get down to the labs before Tony gets back with Steve. The med staff is already getting a bed and equipment ready for Steve. Pepper's there, barefoot, obviously having run straight down from her own floor after either seeing the footage or getting a call from Tony.

“They'll be here any second,” she tells Bucky, and then the outside door's opening up and Tony zips in. Steve's still out. Tony sets him down and the medical staff immediately swarm into action.

“He wake up at all on the way?” Bucky asks desperately.

“He did, actually,” Tony says grimly. “For about two minutes. I think he passed out from the pain. Bot fell on his leg; I think the bone's—” He cuts off when he realizes Grant is there. He grimaces at Bucky to avoid using words to finish the sentence. Bucky feels for a second like he can't breathe.

A gap in the medical staff shows them Steve, cowl off now, and Grant starts crying for real. “Daddy!”

Bucky curses, torn. He knows Grant shouldn't be seeing Steve like this, but he's loathe to leave while Steve's just lying on there on a table.

“Grant, I need your help,” Pepper suddenly says. “Can you help me with something? It's something that will help your daddy once he wakes up.” Grant shakes his head and buries his face in Bucky's neck. “It's really important,” Pepper presses.

“Do you want to help Daddy get better?” Bucky asks. Truth be told, he's a little unsure he can handle letting go of Grant. He's being Bucky's lifeline.

“Okay,” Grant whispers, his little chin quivering. Bucky squeezes him tight and kisses the top of his head.

“He's going to be fine,” he whispers into Grant's ear. “He'll be back to playing baseball with you next week.” It's only a lie if Bucky gets his way, because even if Steve swears he's fine by next week Bucky's not going to let him move more than the distance between the living room and the bedroom for the next year, probably.

Pepper takes Grant's hand and leads him away. Before they leave the room, Grant darts away and over to the bed Steve's in to pat Steve's cheek gently.

“Wake up, Daddy,” he pleads. Nothing happens, and Bucky berates himself for bringing Grant in here. He's going to have nightmares. Grant leans in and kisses Steve's dirty forehead. “I'm gonna help you.”

He squares his shoulders and clumsily salutes Bucky before following Pepper out the door. Bucky scrubs his hands over his face.

“He say anything when he was awake?” He asks Tony.

“Ah...no.” Tony doesn't meet Bucky's eye and Bucky glares at him.

“Tell me,” he orders.

“He didn't say anything. He just...just moaned a bit.” Tony winces. “His leg's pretty bad.”

“It'll be fine,” Bucky says robotically. “Broken bones heal in two to three days.”

“I think it's _crushed_ ,” Tony says, in the gentlest tone he's capable of. Bucky feels the air woosh out of him.

“Well.” He has no follow up.

“Look. I gotta get back to the site, help Clint with the cleanup and the civilians.” Tony sounds apologetic. “JARVIS, you'll keep us informed?”

“Of course, sir.” JARVIS sounds as grim as the rest of them.

“Let me know if anything big happens.” Tony claps Bucky on the shoulder. “He's tough,” he says softly. Bucky realizes Tony hasn't looked at Steve since he set him on the table. Tony leaves and Bucky's alone, standing forlornly and watching people in lab coats block Steve from sight.

He's only alone for about five seconds before he feels a small hand slip into his. He doesn't have to look to know it's Natasha. She doesn't look at him as she offers her support. They're both more comfortable this way.

The medical staff start drifting away from Steve's side one by one. The head doctor catches Bucky's eye and comes over, lips pursed.

“We're going to try to keep him unconscious,” the doctor tells him, and Bucky can feel dread building in the pit of his stomach. “His body is already working to remodel his bones, but it's not setting properly. We're going to have to break it again.”

Bucky shudders and he feels Natasha's hand clamp tighter on his own. “Is he, um—is it just his legs? His head's okay, he's not...” Bucky can't figure out how to ask his question.

“Only his left leg is damaged,” the doctor reassures him. “Well, to the point that we need to do anything. He has other cuts and bruises but those will heal fine. He's unconscious from the pain and his body's strain to repair itself.”

“Okay,” Bucky answers automatically.

“We’re going to insert pins and rods to keep the bone in place,” the doctor goes on. Bucky can feel his control starting to slip a little. He has a little trouble listening to explanations of medical procedures. He got so used to tuning out the techs talking about what was happening to him that he still sometimes forgets the doctors now care that he understands. Natasha pulls him back by digging her fingernails into his skin.

“But will that work for him?” Bucky asks. A lot of things doctors normally do don’t make much difference against the serum.

“Well, we're not sure,” the doctor confesses. “He's never had an injury like this. Honestly, it's not even as bad as we expected. If that happened to me? I'd be in a wheelchair for the rest of my life.”

Bucky takes a deep breath. “But he's going to be up and walking again.”

“I think this will take longer than other broken bones he's had, but yes. I'd say he'll be up and running in two or three weeks.”

“He'll try sooner than that,” Natasha murmurs.

“I'll kill him myself if he tries,” Bucky mutters back.

The doctors pump Steve with as much anesthetic as they can and set to work. Bucky actually hears the snap of Steve's bone and turns away, dry-heaving. Natasha puts a hand on his back but doesn't comment. Finally, finally, they're done, and Bucky can surge forward to sit by Steve's bedside and hold his hand.

“Do you want me to get Grant?” Natasha asks. Bucky thinks for a minute and shakes his head.

“I don't want him to see Steve until he wakes up,” he decides. It doesn't take long for Steve's ridiculously long eyelashes to flutter and part and reveal his hazy eyes. He grins loosely, drugged to the gills, and stretches out a hand to Bucky's cheek.

“Buck,” he murmurs.

“Well, look who's awake.” Bucky tries to keep his voice light but it cracks right now the middle. Steve can only seem to manage one open eye at a time.

“Robot fell on me,” he comments, brow furrowed like he's offended. Bucky laughs a little, closing his eyes for a second as relief makes all his joints feel weak.

“Sure did.” Bucky leans into the hand on his face. “You saved that reporter, though.” He knows Steve will want to know that. Steve sort of nods, apparently forgetting what he was doing halfway through in favor of running his thumb across Bucky's bottom lip.

“Pretty,” he coos, puckering his own lips.

“You saying that reporter was pretty?” Bucky teases, knowing exactly what Steve wants. Steve's nose scrunches up in his confusion.

“You,” he says. “You're pretty. Gimme kiss?”

“Since you're being so charming.” Bucky leans over and gives Steve a peck on the lips. Steve lets out a happy little sigh and Bucky starts laughing. “You're getting sappy, pal.”

“Don't care.” Steve grins up at him and Bucky can't help but grin back, running a hand through Steve's hair.

“I was pretty worried about you,” Bucky admits softly.

“Sorry.”

Bucky shrugs. “Wasn't much else you could do. Glad you're alright.”

“M'leg hurts.” Steve winces a little.

“It's busted all to hell,” Bucky tells him. “And they cut up your uniform. Gonna need another one again.”

“Looser,” Steve requests.

“Hell no.” Bucky flicks the side of Steve's head gently. “Tighter in the ass, if anything.”

Steve grins, eyes slipping closed. “Everyone else can see, too.”

“Good point.” Bucky goes back to stroking his hair. “Looser it is.”

The door opens behind them and Bucky glances back to see Natasha escorting Grant in. He'd forgotten Natasha was there, honestly, and feels guilty.

“Hey, the kid's here. And Nat.”

Steve puts forth a lot of effort to open his eyes. “Hi, buddy,” he breathes out before he can even see Grant. Grant grabs the hem of Bucky's shirt, eyes wide as he stares at Steve in the bed and the cut across Steve's forehead and the sling elevating Steve's leg.

“He's alright,” Bucky assures the boy. Steve lifts the hand from Bucky's cheek and waves.

“Nat,” he says.

“Hey, sailor.” She smiles. “Guess you're down for the count for a while.”

“Nah.” Steve licks his lips. “Good as new by tomorrow.”

“James might explode if you say that again,” Natasha laughs.

“Sure will. You ain't getting out of bed for a month.”

“You gonna be there?” Steve tries to leer, but his eyes are still dragging down so it doesn't entirely work. Natasha laughs behind them and Bucky snorts.

“Not in front of the kid, Stevie, come on.”

Grant still hasn't said anything, clutching tight to Bucky and burying his face in Bucky's side. He's trembling a little.

“Grant?” Steve reaches blindly and Bucky guides his hand to the top of Grant's head.

“Daddy?” Grant's voice is small, trembling, and it breaks Bucky's heart a little.

“I'm a'right,” Steve promises. “Hurt my leg. Kiss it better?”

“That doesn't work for real,” Grant says sullenly. “You're Captain America.”

Steve winces. “Cat's outta the bag.”

“Have you always been Captain America?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, just as Bucky cuts in,

“Only as long as there's been Captain America.” Bucky refuses to let anyone forget Steve has his own life.

“You got hurt.” Grant chews on his lip for a minute, an expression he picked up from Bucky.

“I got hurt,” Steve agrees. “I'll get better.”

“Remember when your friend Luis broke his leg?” Bucky reminds him. “And he got a cast and everybody signed it?”

“His leg's all better now.” Grant considers this new information. “Did you get a cast?”

“Yeah, down there, see?” Steve doesn't seem to realize he's got blankets covering most of his legs, so Bucky lifts them up to give Grant a peek. He touches the plaster with one finger, gingerly, and watches Steve's face, like he's worried about hurting him.

“Gonna sign it?” Steve asks. “Draw me something.”

“Not today,” Bucky breaks in, worried the cast isn’t completely dry yet. “You're gonna sleep down here tonight so they can keep an eye on you. We'll come get you first thing in the morning. We'll sign your cast tomorrow.” He turns to Grant. “We're gonna let Daddy get some sleep. And it's way past your bedtime.”

“I can't sleep here with Daddy?” Grant's sad face almost makes Bucky change his mind, not that it would be hard considering he wants to stay, too, but Grant's not exactly gentle with his movements when he sleeps and Bucky doesn't want them to risk hurting Steve in the middle of the night.

“Not tonight.” Bucky ruffles Grant's hair. “You can sleep in the bed with me.”

“But Daddy will be all alone.” Grant runs a finger down Steve's nose and Steve laughs a little, still out of it from the drugs. He's not following the conversation at all, floating away on his high.

“The doctors will be with him.” Bucky points at the lab coats gathered around Steve's x-rays and one waves at Grant. “We'll come right after breakfast,” he promises.

Grant sighs. “Alright.” He leans forward and gives Steve a kiss on the cheek. “Good night, Daddy.”

“Night, Grant,” Steve slurs. “Love you.” He raises an arm too late to hug Grant. Bucky steps in and brushes his lips against Steve's.

“We'll be back in the morning,” he murmurs, pushing his hand through Steve's hair. “Be good for the doctors and don't try to get up and walk.”

“Okay,” Steve agrees easily, proving he's completely out of his mind on medication. Bucky snorts and shakes his head.

Grant's quiet on the elevator ride back up to their floor. Bucky feels like the last two hours have been two weeks long and just wants to fall into bed, but he figures he needs to have a discussion with Grant to make sure he's not upset or scared.

“Daddy's a good guy,” Grant says before Bucky can string two words together. “He fights bad guys,” Grant clarifies.

“Yeah, he does. He saves people.” _He saved you and me both_.

“All the Avengers are good guys?” Grant asks.

“Yeah,” Bucky says without really stopping to think. “They all save people.”

“Are you an Avenger?” He taps on Bucky's metal thumb. Bucky squirms a little. He is, technically, a member of the Avengers; he's sort of on the reserves, if they have that. But that's hard to explain to a six-year-old. It's also hard to explain that he only joined the Avengers to make up for when he used to kill people.

“Yes,” Bucky finally says. He _does_ have an Avengers ID.

“Am _I_ an Avenger?” This sounds like it's the heart of the matter, what Grant was really trying to get to, and he sounds excited at the possibility. Bucky chuckles a little.

“Well, you're a bit young, kid.”

Grant makes a face. “I'm in _first grade_ ,” he reminds Bucky. “I'm not a baby anymore.”

Now Bucky's struggling to hold in his laughter. “You're not,” he agrees. “But you have to be a grownup to be an Avenger.”

Grant sighs dramatically. “How long until I'm a grownup?”

“Forty years,” Bucky decides, because he doesn't want Grant to start fighting pretty much ever. Grant scoffs loudly.

“ _Papa_. That is too long.”

Bucky shrugs. “I don't make the rules,” he lies. He totally made that rule.

“Who does?”

“Captain America.”

Grant puts his hands on his hips. “That's not fair! Captain America is Daddy and Daddy always agrees with you.”

Bucky can't help but laugh at how outraged Grant is getting. It's like traveling back in time 90 years to see Steve scolding some kids who were throwing rocks at a dog.

“Sorry, kid. It'll give you time to train.”

Grant tries arguing some more—he demonstrates some of his karate moves and does a cartwheel, like that means anything—but doesn't fight going to bed. He wakes up a little earlier than usual, eager to bring Steve home, and Bucky doesn't even pretend to complain.

The next few weeks include a lot of Bucky pushing on Steve's shoulder to make him stay seated and Grant drawing on Steve's cast and Steve sighing dramatically. Grant's best friend, Will, comes over one day after school and signs Steve's cast. They retreat to Grant's room to play, and instead of pretending to be Captain America and Iron Man (their usual roles), Grant insists they make up their own superhero identities.

“I'm gonna be an Avenger someday,” Grant brags to Will. Steve raises an eyebrow at Bucky and Bucky just shakes his head.

“But I want to be Iron Man,” Will complains. He still insists Hulk is his favorite, but pretending to be the Hulk isn’t as fun as pretending to fly like Iron Man.

“You can't be Iron Man. That's Tony,” Grant explains.

“You don't want to play Captain America anymore?”

“Captain America's my dad.” Grant says it in such a bored voice Bucky almost chokes with his laughter. “And my papa's Winter Soldier. They're both superheroes so _I'm_ gonna be a superhero when I'm older in forty years.”

“Good guy?” Will checks.

“Duh.” They can't see him, but they know Grant's rolling his eyes. “Your dads can't be good guys and you be a bad guy.”

Steve shoots Bucky a soft little smile and whispers, “Good guy.” Bucky just rolls his eyes, but it sticks with him for a long time. It's nice, really, to see the faith in Grant's eyes every day, calling Bucky a good guy and wanting to be a superhero like his parents. Bucky thinks he can handle that.


	11. Sleepover

Bucky doesn’t love picking up Grant from school. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy Grant’s big grin when he sees Bucky waiting, or the way Grant chatters all the way home about what he learned and who threw up at recess—that’s not the problem. Bucky loves that part.

But before that part comes the waiting.

Bucky can’t stand the thought of being late, of Grant walking out the double door and looking around and not seeing one of his fathers or the Avengers there to take him home. It also makes Bucky nervous, how vulnerable Grant is in those moments—not paying attention to his surroundings as he looks for a familiar face, outside the school but not to a safe car yet, his teacher thinking he’s gone and no one to see if he’s suddenly whisked away. (Okay, so, as Steve points out mildly, there are other parents and nannies waiting. But how would they _know_ if the person taking Grant wasn’t supposed to be taking him? How would they be able to help?)

So Bucky gets there early every time it’s his turn to pick up Grant. He stands a little way back from the front doors, leaning against a brick wall of the school, trying to make himself small and unnoticeable but still maintain a sightline to the doors and windows. The other people gathered around waiting for kids usually give him sidelong looks but, in all honesty, most of them know who he is. They’ve all got to be aware that Grant goes to their kids’ school—some tabloid found out and wrote a big piece about it and Bucky was halfway out the door to go track down the reporter before Steve stopped him—and he sees the recognition in most people’s eyes as they give him a second look. If he’s just out and about, it’s easy to dodge glances, but when people already have him in context, knowing Grant’s his and Steve’s son…well, they know.

It makes him want to duck his head and hunch his shoulders, sure they’re thinking awful things about him and staring at his metal arm and judging his long hair. Everyone knows the Winter Soldier is Bucky Barnes. And everyone knows what the Winter Soldier did.

When the government decided not to prosecute him, they released a bunch of statements with evidence that led to that decision, so anyone who wants can go to the internet and watch a grainy video of Bucky getting wiped and reset and listen to him scream. But they also released any evidence linking him to assassinations over the century. Anyone can see Bucky taking a rifle butt to the face in the early days of his conditioning, but they can also read about him killing John F. Kennedy.

It makes him twitchy.

But Steve’s got a TV appearance with some of the rest of the team, and Bucky has nothing going on, so there’s no reason for him not to go get Grant today. Bucky goes to his usual spot and chews a hangnail, idly overhearing a group of young moms discussing their yoga class or something. Bucky’s got nothing against them—he likes the thought of these moms banding together, basically forcing their kids to be friends by being friends. It reminds him of growing up, of hearing his ma and Steve’s ma giggling together when Steve’s ma wasn’t too tired from working, rare, stolen moments of levity in lives full of too much work.

And then, suddenly, Bucky notices someone coming toward him. It’s one of the yoga moms, in a neatly pressed blouse and flowing skirt, blonde hair curled delicately, peach lipstick perfect, and Bucky starts to sweat. Does she think he’s some kind of pervert loitering around to catch a glimpse of a kid? Is she coming over to yell at him?

“Hi,” she says with a bright grin as she stops in front of him. “I’m Sheila. My daughter Eliza’s in your son’s class.”

“You know who I am?” The question slips out almost unconsciously in his surprise. He knows in his head everyone probably recognizes him, but it still catches him off guard when someone mentions it. Sheila gives him a funny look and laughs a little.

“Well…yeah. I mean, not just who you are, I mean, I know you’re Grant’s dad.” Sheila looks a little flustered and it actually helps Bucky start to relax. He manages a smile and it seems to encourage Sheila. “Well, see, Eliza’s having a birthday party next Saturday, and she’s just _dying_ for Grant to come—she can’t stop talking about him.”

Bucky thinks for a second and then tosses out, “Yeah, Grant’s talked about Eliza.” It’s not a lie, but Bucky has no idea if Grant likes Eliza more than he likes anyone else in his class. He seems to be best friends with everyone, though he always makes sure to remind everyone that Will is still his _best_ best friend.

Sheila beams, though, so it must’ve been the right thing to say. “ _Great_ ,” she breathes. “Oh, Eliza’ll be thrilled. So here’s an invitation. It _is_ a sleepover, and I know some people think seven’s a bit young for sleepovers and maybe that it’s inappropriate for a boy/girl sleepover, but they’re just kids, you know? And it’s not like my husband and I are just throwing them in a room and letting them go wild.”

She laughs again and Bucky echoes her, totally out of his depth here. He has no idea if seven’s too young for sleepovers, but he knows his stomach is twisting in knots at the thought of Grant being gone overnight at someone’s house they don’t even _know_. Grant’s had one sleepover at Will’s, but he’s known Will since kindergarten and Steve and Bucky have met both of Will’s parents and his two older siblings a hundred times. Steve and Bucky were already having sleepovers at seven, but Steve’s ma worked nights sometimes and Winifred Barnes couldn’t see a hungry, lonely kid and not push both food and hugs on him.

“So you and Steve just talk that over, and if you’re not comfortable with the sleepover Grant can come for presents and cake and games and leave during the movie.”

Grant would be incredibly sulky if he had to leave before anyone else, Bucky knows for a fact. He’s saved from having to say anything else by the door opening and kids starting to stream out. He nods at Sheila and looks for Grant’s blond hair bobbing through the crowd.

“Hi, Papa!” Grant skips over and slips his hand into Bucky’s. “I painted our family today in class!”

“You did? Where’s your painting?”

“They have to stay at school until tomorrow. Paint takes time to dry, Papa.” Grant explains helpfully.

“Oh, it does?” Bucky reaches down and tweaks his fingers into Grant’s armpit, making him shriek and squeal. “Thanks for teaching me about paint.”

“Papa, no tickling while we’re walking!” Grant gasps. “You have to pay attention when you’re around cars so you don’t get hit,” he scolds. Bucky nods seriously.

“That’s very good advice. Where did you hear it?”

“Daddy.”

“ _Your_ daddy?” Bucky pretends to be surprised. “What a smart guy.”

“Daddy’s so smart!” Grant agrees. “So are you, Papa.” He reaches over with the hand not holding Bucky’s and gives Bucky’s arm a reassuring little pat. Bucky can’t help but laugh a little.

“So, you got a friend named Eliza in your class?” Bucky asks.

“Yeah! Eliza is _very_ good at math,” Grant brags on his friend’s behalf. “Jason said she has a crush on me!”

Jason is Will’s oldest brother, who, at twelve, knows everything. Personally, Bucky thinks Jason is probably right, but he doesn’t want to chime in if it’s going to make Grant act squirrely around the poor girl.

“Well, maybe she just likes being your friend.”

“I like being her friend,” Grant confides as Bucky buckles him into his booster seat. Grant hates the booster seat. He begs almost daily to be allowed to sit in a seat like a grownup. But the website they checked said your kid should be four foot nine, and Grant’s just barely made it to four feet even. He’s bigger than Steve was, that’s for sure, and there are two kids in the class shorter than he is, but he’s still a lot smaller than most of the kids his age. Will, whose parents are both over six feet, already has four inches and more than ten pounds on Grant.

Grant doesn’t have anything else to say on the matter, and Bucky doesn’t want to bring up the birthday party until he’s talked to Steve. Bucky knows he can get overprotective and hypervigilant, but he has a feeling the sleepover idea will make Steve wary, too.

When he brings it up that night after Grant’s asleep, he can’t help but feel a little triumphant. He’s right. When he mentions the sleepover aspect, Steve’s eyes go wide.

“A sleepover?” Steve echoes. “Aren’t they too young for that? Grant barely made it the whole night at Will’s. He’s never even been to these people’s house before!”

“I _know_.” Bucky shakes his head. “Plus who even knows what kind of people they are.”

“They could be perverts.”

“They could be thieves.”

“They could be HYDRA.”

“They could be kidnappers.”

“They could steal Grant and sell him into domestic slavery. I watched that documentary—”

“Okay, don’t tell me about it,” Bucky cuts him off. “I don’t need that thought in my head.”

Steve bites his lip. “Are we going overboard?”

“That’s what I’m worried about.” Bucky sighs and drops his face down onto the bedspread. “I don’t want us to be those weird parents who shelter their kid so much he doesn’t know how to be a regular person.”

“Yeah.” Steve’s quiet for a minute. “But I don’t want us to be those parents who weren’t strict _enough_ and end up on the news.”

“This is too hard,” Bucky whines, voice muffled from the way he’s face-down on the bed. “Let’s move to a remote cabin where Grant can’t come into contact with any other human beings.”

Steve huffs a little laugh and starts stroking Bucky’s hair. “Yeah, that'll definitely teach him how to be a normal person.”

Bucky hums, half annoyance over not knowing what to do and half contentment under Steve’s ministrations. “I mean, I’m running a background check even if he doesn’t spend the night.”

“Fine by me.” From the purposeful movements of Steve’s hands, Bucky can tell he’s had an idea but isn’t sure Bucky’s going to appreciate it. “Maybe we’ll talk to Will’s parents. If Will’s going…”

Bucky blows out a noisy sigh and rolls over, dropping his head into Steve’s lap. “Don’t be reasonable when I’m trying to sulk.”

“Don’t sulk when I’m trying to be reasonable.”

“But you love when my lips get all pouty.” Bucky demonstrates and Steve laughs at him.

“Your lips are always pouty,” he reminds Bucky, smiling. “You’re a real whiny guy.”

Bucky knocks his forehead against Steve’s hip in retaliation and Steve’s grin just broadens. Bucky knows what that glint in Steve’s eye means—and sure enough, Steve flips Bucky over so he’s on his back on the bed. Steve pounces and they’re off, wrestling and pinching each other and gasping with laughter.

“Quit it,” Steve pants after Bucky pinches the soft flesh of his inner thigh. He tweaks one of Bucky’s nipples, and not in the fun way.

“Hey!” Bucky protests. “Be careful. I need that.”

“For what?” Steve laughs.

“For turning your head.” Bucky wiggles his eyebrows and puckers his lips again. Steve hits him with a pillow.

 

“Are you going to take Bucky Bear?” Steve asks, Grant’s backpack in hand. He’s foregone Captain America, now that the novelty’s worn off, and instead it’s plain green. It is hilariously small compared to Steve’s hulking body.

Grant bites his lip and tips his head to the side fretfully. “Will I…” His hands flutter nervously, a habit he’s picked up since he’s given up signing except to talk to Clint or when he’s feeling particularly petulant. “I don’t want to look like a baby,” he mumbles.

Bucky feels ready to call the whole thing off. This whole sleepover affair has brought them all stress and worry. Grant is incredibly worried about how he’ll look to his friends, so much so that he’s willing to leave behind not only his beloved Captain America nightshirt he's been wearing the last four years but now Bucky Bear, too.

“You don’t have to take him if you don’t want,” Bucky reassures him, telling himself it’s ridiculous to feel a little wounded. Kids grow up and don’t need their teddy bears anymore. It’s normal.

Grant looks down at Bucky Bear. “I’ll leave him here.” He squares his shoulders and lifts his chin, battle ready, looking for all the world like little Stevie Rogers about to run headlong into a group of boys pushing around poor Willy Samson, the boy who was a little slower than everyone else in their class. Steve spent most of the first and second grade defending him before he and his family moved to Maine to be with family.

Grant doesn’t hold their hands walking up to the door, and stops on the front stoop to take his backpack from Steve and sleeping bag and pillow from Bucky. “I can hold my stuff,” he says proudly. “I’m strong enough.”

Sheila’s husband, Matthew Joseph Lewiston, general contractor for a private firm, no ties to HYDRA or any other covert agency but with a public disturbance charge from his college years, opens the door and his eyes go wide when they land on Steve.

“Hi,” he says a little breathlessly, and Bucky’s stomach unclenches a little. He should probably be used to people fawning over Steve by now, but he still likes seeing it after so many years of people not appreciating Steve the way he deserved.

“I’m Steve,” Steve says, holding out a hand. Matthew almost sighs and Bucky has to cough to cover a laugh. Steve gives him a subtle elbow to the ribs.

Grant is shy for all of three seconds inside the house, until Will and another one of their friends, Lisa, run over and start talking to him.

“Hi Mr. Rogers, Mr. Barnes!” Will chirps politely. Will’s mother confided in Steve and Bucky that normally she wouldn’t let Will go to a sleepover anywhere other than their house, but it’s her and her husband’s wedding anniversary and the other kids are going to friends’ houses, too.

“Hey, Will.” Bucky feels far more comfortable greeting him than any of the gathered adults in a little huddle around the gifts table. Steve deposits Grant’s addition—some kind of building set that they have at school and Eliza apparently covets daily—and quickly dodges some of the more flirtatious moms by apologetically turning down a drink because he and Bucky have to get going to catch a movie.

“Hey, kid, we’re leaving.” Bucky bends down to say goodbye to Grant. The little boy’s eyes widen just slightly before he nods resolutely.

 _You’ll be fine_ , Bucky signs. Sometimes it’s easier to sign than talk when people are around; Grant gets less embarrassed about what he’s saying if only Steve and Bucky can understand it.

Grant nods again. “Bye, Papa. Bye, Dad.”

Grant almost never calls Steve _dad_ instead of _daddy_ and Bucky sees a little spasm cross Steve’s face before he schools his expression. “Have fun, buddy.” He opens his arms for a hug but Grant presses his lips together, shaking his head furiously and shooting a quick look around to make sure none of his friends saw.

Steve plasters a big, fake smile on his face, a sure sign he’s not feeling great about what just happened, and waves instead. “We’ll pick you up tomorrow.”

They don’t talk about it on the way home; there’s not really anything to say. Steve hadn’t _exactly_ lied about the movie—they are going to watch a movie. They’re just going to do it in their living room and not the theater like it may have sounded by his phrasing.

“Guess he’s getting too old for hugs,” Steve mutters, ending the not talking about it as he grabs the remote to turn on the TV. Bucky shoots him a rueful half-smile.

“He was just feeling anxious about having so many kids around. Didn’t want to be the only kid hugging his folks.”  
  
“I didn’t realize that kind of thing started so young,” Steve sighs. “He’s only seven and he already cares what the other kids think.”

Bucky laughs a little. “Yeah, you didn’t realize ‘cause you _never_ cared.”

“I cared a little,” Steve reminds him. “Didn’t much like how none of the girls would dance with me.”

“I kinda didn’t mind it,” Bucky teases. Steve rolls his eyes good-naturedly and tugs Bucky down to cuddle up on the couch.

“Mind this,” Steve says nonsensically, pushing play on a movie that doesn’t feature any talking animals, magic, or singing. It’s almost a weird kind of relief to hear someone say _fuck_ on the screen.

 

They’re making out lazily on the couch, the menu music looping over and over again, and they’ve both come twice already and did so loudly, just because they could and didn’t have to be quick and quiet in case of bad dreams or nighttime accidents (few and far between these days, but still happening occasionally—totally normal, Dr. Jones says) or Bucky Bear apparently needing a glass of water at two am.

And then Steve’s phone buzzes on the coffee table.

It’s nearly eleven, and they both freeze for a second. No good news comes of a call this late when everyone you know is well aware you’re married and have a seven-year-old. Bucky pushes himself out of Steve’s lap and grabs for the phone, wincing a little when his metal fingers scrape against the glass of the coffee table.

“Sheila,” he reads from the display, heart sinking. Steve sighs and presses the button to pick up the call.

“Hello?”

“Steve? It’s Sheila,” her voice comes out tinny over the speaker phone. “It’s Grant. He says he’s not feeling well.”

“Did he eat too much cake?” Steve asks, both of them already getting up off the couch and looking for socks and shoes and, in Bucky’s case, pants.

“Maybe? I don’t know, he actually hasn’t said anything in almost an hour…Will’s, uh, translating, I guess? He says Grant says he has a stomachache.”

“We’ll be right there,” Steve promises.

“He probably ate too much cake,” Bucky guesses. “Sugar fiend.”

“I sure hope he doesn’t throw up,” Steve says, wincing. “Talk about looking bad in front of your friends.”

Grant’s sitting on the front steps, shamefaced, with Sheila on one side and Will holding his hand on the other, Eliza hovering behind them. He stands up immediately when he sees the car, before they’ve even stopped, and is gathering up his backpack and sleeping bag before they get their doors open. Will carries his pillow for him.

“Hey, kid,” Bucky starts. He stops immediately when he sees Grant’s lower lip start wobbling. He’s not going to say anything to make the kid cry, at least not until they’re safely in the car.

“His tummy hurts,” Will tells them solemnly.

Sheila flutters behind them, a fleece robe wrapped around her. “I only gave everyone one piece of cake,” she promises helplessly.

“Oh, Sheila, don’t worry about it,” Steve gives her his sincere bond-selling voice. “Sometimes he just has stomach trouble. Inherited it from me, unfortunately.”

“I’m real sorry.” Sheila looks down at Grant. “I hope you feel better, sweetie.”

“Bye, Grant,” Eliza calls forlornly from the front step. “Thanks for coming to my party.”

Grant hasn’t raised his head from staring at his bare feet. Bucky gives poor Eliza an apologetic smile.

“Bye,” Will says, handing Steve Grant’s pillow.

The ride home is quiet, because Bucky’s pretty sure Grant’s going to start bawling if they talk to him and he thinks they should just wait until they get home. As soon as they get in the front door, Grant rushes to his room and grabs Bucky Bear. Steve and Bucky exchange a glance.

“Grant,” Steve says, and Grant bites his lip.

“I wanted to come home,” he tells Bucky Bear’s ear, hiding his face.

“Hey,” Bucky says, waiting to go on until Grant reluctantly looks up. “No problem, pal. You ever want to leave anywhere, you call us and we’ll be right there.”

“Really?” Grant asks in a small voice. “Even if it’s the middle of the night?”

“Even if it’s the middle of the night in winter and we gotta walk,” Steve promises, smiling softly. Grant rushes forward and jumps at Steve, who catches him effortlessly. Grant buries his face in Steve’s neck and Bucky rubs his back.

“I don’t want to have a sleepover there,” Grant murmurs. “I just want to sleep here at our house.”

Maybe that fact would make him seem a little like a baby to his peers, but it didn’t bother his parents one bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was totally Grant as a kid. I _hated_ sleepovers and always just wanted to sleep in my own bed, but was too shy/embarrassed to decline invitations, so I ended up mysteriously getting stomachaches around the time everyone was settling down to go to sleep. I don't think I stayed the whole night at a sleepover until I was into my teens.


	12. Show and Tell

Grant is acting pretty strangely; he keeps wandering around the house picking things up, scrunching up his face in thought, and putting them back down, muttering to himself. Bucky shoots Steve a look. Steve shrugs.

“He probably gets it from you,” Steve says cheerfully. Bucky rolls his eyes. Whenever Grant’s being cute and smart, Steve claims it’s a product of his DNA. When Grant’s being weird or moody, it’s suddenly Bucky’s genes, even though growing up Steve had been the moodier one by _far_.

“Hey, kid, what’s up?” Bucky finally asks after Grant purses his lips at the salt and pepper shakers, a matched set shaped to look like Steve and Bucky. They were a gift from Natasha, who still hasn’t revealed where she got them. Steve thinks maybe she made them herself somehow and doesn’t want anyone to know.

“Nothing,” Grant says, sounding slightly guilty.

“How’s Will doing?” Steve asks casually. Two weeks ago, Will got upset over an older kid pushing him off the swing and suddenly revealed he was a mutant. He revealed it by shooting flames from the tips of his fingers and scaring everyone enough to get the whole school evacuated for the rest of the day.

His parents are still deciding whether or not to pull him out of school and enroll him in Xavier’s mutant academy. Everyone had been shocked—even Grant hadn’t known, even after spending as much time as possible with Will over the last three years. His family’s kept that secret on complete lock-down. He’s the only mutant in his family.

“Fine.” Grant’s face goes a little downcast at the mention of his best friend. At eight years old, the thought of his best friend switching schools is the biggest crisis he can imagine. Steve and Bucky are happy—it’s a fairly carefree worry, all things considered, and they’d like to keep it that way.

“His mom and dad still haven’t decided about the school?” Bucky asks sympathetically.

Grant shrugs one little shoulder, lips pulling to one side the same way Bucky’s do when he’s thinking hard about something. “The principal’s worried he’s gonna light someone on fire.” Grant looks up, his face the picture of indignant fury. “But Will wouldn’t do that!”

“Not on purpose,” Steve agrees. “But sometimes people with special powers can’t control them very well until they learn how. And if Will went to a school with other kids with special powers, he might feel better, like he’s not the only one. Like if you went to a school where everyone had a hearing aid or needed to sign.” Privately, Steve thinks Will’s obviously got an extraordinary handle on his powers, considering how long he kept that secret, but a lot of people are terrified of the rising mutant population and the principal’s probably trying to save her own skin.

Grant chews this over. “Tim called Will a freak,” he reports quietly.

“It’s not a nice thing to call someone,” Bucky says tightly. He and Steve have both been called worse, even before they were pumped full of super serum and enhanced.

“But I don’t want Will to go to a different school.” Grant’s lip starts trembling. “If he goes to a different school he can’t be my best friend anymore.”

Steve and Bucky exchange a glance. They want to promise him he and Will can stay best friends even at different schools, and it certainly _is_ possible, but they both know how hard it would be. Going to different schools would be the first way to start drifting apart, and that’s already easy enough for kids to do.

“Even if Will goes to a different school, you could still see him after school,” Bucky ventures.

“And on Saturdays and Sundays. You guys could have sleepovers every weekend,” Steve suggests, kindly not mentioning Grant’s trouble with sleepovers. He manages to stay at Will’s house half the time, but he’s still never made it through a night at anyone else’s house.

Luckily, Will seems happy enough to come to the Tower. He’s become friends with Bruce, still his favorite Avenger, and he regularly gets to “assist” in the labs. He and Grant get the living room and the TV all to themselves, without siblings butting in and teasing them. Conversely, Grant loves following Will’s older brother around, and he lets Will’s big sister, Amy, brush his hair and dress him up.

It reminds Steve of his arrangement with Bucky—Bucky had used Steve’s house as an escape from his large family when things got hectic, and Steve had longed for the solidarity of siblings. It was a nice balance, and it seems to work for Grant and Will, too. When Thor and Jane are at the Tower, Grant revels in acting like a big brother to their daughter, Lily. She’s only a few months old, though, so he mostly just coos at her and helps change the occasional diaper. Jane’s excited about that part.

Grant scuffs his socked foot moodily against the ground. “I just want Will to stay at my school.”

Steve sighs. “I know you do. But it might be better for Will to go to Xavier’s school.”

“Sometimes being best friends means you have to help your friend be happy, even if it’s not what you want,” Bucky chimes in. Steve and Bucky are sort of avoiding each other’s eyes at this point, both thinking of all the times Steve tried to get Bucky to move out to a better part of town and during the war when Bucky insisted Steve should go after Peggy.

“But Will doesn’t _want_ to go to that school,” Grant protests. “He wants to stay with me.”

Bucky huffs a little. Self-sacrifice might be a little over an eight-year-old’s head, at least one who only vaguely remembers a time when he wasn’t pampered and loved. It’s not exactly a bad thing, Bucky decides. He doesn’t want his kid to grow up into an asshole, obviously, but he likes the idea that Grant’s firm memories involve support and happiness.

“Well, if that’s what Will wants, I hope he gets to stay,” Steve says, shooting Bucky a look that boils down to _I guess we’ll have to deal with this later if it comes up_. Bucky shrugs back at him. He has no idea just _how_ Steve thinks they’re going to deal with it if Will ends up going to Xavier’s.

Grant’s a little sullen for a few hours after that, but it doesn’t take long before he’s back to his silly, sweet self, making up a song to narrate his nighttime routine and reading a book aloud to Steve and Bucky with high-pitched character voices and accents.

Steve gets called out in the middle of the night to go fight some flying robots or other. He presses a few kisses against Bucky’s slack lips before he leaves. Bucky grumbles sleepily, but before Steve can turn and leave he grabs him by the wrist and tugs him back down for a proper goodbye.

“Who’s going with you?” Bucky murmurs.

“Sam, Tony, and Bruce. Natasha and Clint are in Belarus and Thor’s in Asgard.” Steve pushes Bucky’s hair off his forehead and gives him another kiss. “I’ll be fine.”

Bucky grunts, because that remains to be seen, but nods and yawns. “Come home in one piece.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too.” Bucky rolls over, nestling back under the covers and pressing his face into Steve’s pillow, and Steve spares a minute to marvel at him, marvel at the way he can just fall back to sleep now, how he doesn’t have to get up five times in the night and patrol the apartment anymore.

He pops into Grant’s room and kisses his forehead. Grant stirs and mumbles a little but doesn’t wake up. Steve untangles the blanket from the foot of the bed and pulls it up over Grant, grinning at the way Bucky Bear’s wedged tightly in Grant’s elbow. He’s eight and considers himself quite a grown-up these days, but he still sleeps with Bucky Bear every night.

Grant’s up early in the morning, earlier than he normally is and earlier than he needs to be for school. Bucky takes his time getting out of bed, because he can hear that Grant’s awake but he’s still in his room, so there’s no rush to get breakfast going. Besides, if he’s going to starve, the kid can get his own cereal or toast.

Eventually, Bucky pushes himself up out of bed, mostly because lazing in bed without Steve isn’t nearly as fun and also because thinking about breakfast is making his stomach grumble insistently. Bucky taps on Grant’s door.

“Pancakes or French toast?” He asks. Grant swings the door open and rushes past Bucky without answering, heading toward Bucky and Steve’s room. He lets out a long, disappointed groan when he gets there.

“Did Dad leave?” He cries.

“Yeah, he got called in,” Bucky says slowly. “What’s wrong?”

“Did he take his shield?”

Bucky pauses for a second, trying to erase all traces of sarcasm before asking, “On a mission? Yes, Grant, he took his shield. What’s going on?”

“I need to take his shield to school! Is he going to be back before I leave?”

Bucky is honestly stumped for a second. “Uh.” He licks his lips and tries to figure out a response. “I doubt it. They had to go up into Canada. Why do you need the shield? Someone giving you trouble at school?” He’s half-joking, but Grant doesn’t laugh. He flops backward onto the unmade bed and groans again.

“Grant?”

Grant throws himself angrily off the bed and stomps down the hall back to his own room. At least he doesn’t slam his door. Bucky rubs his eyes and sighs. He really wanted to make pancakes, but apparently they’ve got some kind of crisis and it’s barely six thirty. Christ.

He stops in the doorway, firm in his rules about not entering Grant’s room without permission. He leans against the doorframe. “You gonna tell me what’s going on?”

Grant’s lying face-down on his bed, so his voice is muffled. “It’s show and tell today.”

“And you wanted to take Dad’s shield?” Bucky doesn’t mention the fact that this is the first time Grant’s mentioned anything about show and tell. He figures a lecture about how they could’ve helped Grant choose something had they known in advance can be bypassed just now.

“Now I have nothing,” Grant says dramatically. Bucky fights a snort. Grant’s room is full of books and toys. He lives in a high-security building full of superheroes and adults with money to spare and a desire to spoil him. He wants to talk about having nothing, he can take a little trip to 1937 and visit Steve’s apartment just before his ma died.

“Why don’t you take Min-E?” Bucky suggests. Grant’s robot is sitting mostly forlornly in the corner, switched off for the better part of a year. Bucky would take him down to Tony’s lab so he could at least be useful if he didn’t know it would hurt Tony’s feelings.

“Will’s already seen Min-E tons of times,” Grant mutters. Bucky feels a little lightbulb go off. Ah. So it’s not exactly show and tell itself that’s the problem. Bucky eases himself down onto Grant’s bed and props himself up on an elbow, rubbing Grant’s back with his free hand.

“You trying to impress Will with show and tell?”

Grant shrugs his little shoulders. “If I bring something cool enough he’ll want to stay at school with me.”

Bucky blows out a breath. He has no idea what to say to that. Steve’s better at this kind of thing, though Bucky has no idea why. Maybe Steve’s just more empathetic or something. It probably helps that Steve doesn’t have to sift through a jumbled mess in his brain when he wants to talk.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Listen. Will might not get to make that choice. I know his parents will care what he wants, but the school might not let him come back.”

“But why?” Grant asks. “He didn’t mean to scare anyone. And he didn’t even hurt anybody.”

Bucky sighs and bites his lip. “Grant, Will’s got special powers. He’s a mutant, actually. And some people are afraid of mutants. Some people think mutants should be…away from everyone else.”

“But _why_?” Grant repeats. Bucky huffs and runs a hand through his hair. It’s a good question, though one he’s really not equipped to answer.

“Some people don’t like people who are different,” he says softly, thinking of how many guys had spat out _queer_ at Steve just from seeing his slight form, remembering the mutters that followed Morita and Jones at different camps they stopped at for supplies.

“That’s not fair,” Grant announces. Bucky wants to laugh, almost, at how very much he sounds like Steve, both when Steve was his age and even now.

“It’s not,” Bucky agrees. “And we try to change that, as much as we can. But I’m just telling you, pal, there’s probably nothing you can do to get Will to stay at your school.”

Grant sighs and nestles close to Bucky. “If Will went to the other school, no one would call him a freak?”

“Hmm.” Bucky thinks for a second. “Not for having special powers, probably. But there might still be bullies at his new school, too.”

“I don’t like bullies,” Grant grumbles, and Bucky really does laugh at that.

“So, is Min-E good enough for today?” Bucky asks. Grant hums with thought.

“Yeah,” he acquiesces. “I haven’t turned him on in a long time.”

“You think he can still do tricks?”

Grant nods confidently. “He can do anything.”

“Maybe you should get him to clean your room.”

Grant giggles. “I should. Then I don’t have to.”

“You don’t do it anyway!” Bucky teases, attacking Grant and tickling him until he shrieks. He ruffles Grant’s hair and carries him off to the kitchen for pancakes. He gets him and Min-E off to school, where they are the hit of the third-grade show and tell. Steve gets home just before bedtime and listens to Grant’s dramatic retelling of the day, gasping and laughing in all the right places and even applauding when Grant’s done. Bucky laughs at both of them.

A week later, they find out Will’s going to stay at their school, at least for the rest of the year, and Grant cheers excitedly. Grant gets very invested in fairness after that, and people being treated well. Bucky and Steve can’t do much about that, not that they want to.

“He was going to end up like that anyway,” Bucky points out. “No way a kid of yours wasn’t going to be all about justice and respect.”

Steve shrugs. “He gets some of that from you, too, you know.”

Bucky scoffs. “I wasn’t the one going around standing up to bullies, Stevie.”

Steve gives him one of those soft smiles that make his stomach flutter, even after all this time. “Sure you were, Buck,” Steve reminds him. “You took one look at a two-against-one fight and wouldn’t stand for it. You jumped right in and saved me.”

Bucky coughs, a little embarrassed. “Well,” he says, kind of awkwardly. “Didn’t want ‘em messing up your pretty face.”

Steve chuckles, but he’s still giving Bucky that look that means he sees right through Bucky and loves every bit of him. “Good thing,” he says. “Never would’ve sold any war bonds without this pretty face.”

Bucky snorts. “Sure, that’s why they _covered_ it. People bought bonds ‘cause of your ass.”

Steve makes an exaggerated wounded face. “That’s uncouth.”

“Get over here, Rogers, I’ll show you uncouth.”

“Show me what you mean about my ass, more like.”

Bucky cracks up. “With pleasure,” he promises. And Bucky Barnes doesn’t go back on promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up in the next chapter: Grant vs. a bully.


	13. Put up your dukes

Grant is in fourth grade when it first happens. Steve figures he should have known it was coming; Grant's face has been in magazines since he was a toddler. All his classmates know who he is and who his fathers are and the story of how he came into the world.

It starts one rainy day when Steve picks him up from school. Grant is subdued and quiet the entire ride, and Steve wars with himself over pushing and giving Grant room to breathe. Grant makes the decision for him when they pull into the garage and Grant turns to him.

“Was I made in a science lab?” He asks quietly. Steve sucks in a quick breath. He and Bucky have been wondering how to approach the subject for a while, but they never came up with the right thing to say and Steve's not prepared.

“Where did you hear that?” Steve asks to buy himself a little more time. It is, apparently, the wrong thing to say.

“It's true,” Grant murmurs, looking down at his hands. “I'm a science experiment.”

Steve's stomach clenches. He remembers, in a flash, the sting of Tony's words, _everything special about you came out of a bottle_. He knows Tony said it under Loki's influence, knows it isn't true, knows Bucky would cuff him upside the head if he thought Steve was even considering it, but none of that stopped the hurt that came from hearing those words. The look on Grant's face says he's feeling exactly that, and Steve wants to reach into Grant's head and pull those thoughts out.

Steve makes himself stop and think, weigh his words before he says them. The truth is, that's technically true. Grant _was_ a science experiment. He was made in a lab. Steve doesn't want to lie to him, but it doesn't seem right to just agree with those statements, either.

“You know, I'm a science experiment, too,” Steve tells him softly. Grant looks up quickly, eyes narrowed in disbelief. “It's true. You know the story about the serum.”

“But you weren't _made_ in a lab,” Grant argues.

“This body was,” Steve counters. “These muscles were. And you know what? Papa's kind of a science experiment, too. His arm sure is. He went through a _lot_ of science experiments.” Steve can't entirely stop his hand from clenching tightly at that thought.

“Bad things happened to Papa,” Grant says. He sounds unsure; he knows bad things happened, but he's not sure if that factors into this conversation.

“Very bad things,” Steve agrees. “And bad things happened to you, too. The people who made you and did those things to Papa were very bad people. I got to choose to be a science experiment, and you and Papa didn't.”

“So that's bad.” It sounds more like a question than a statement.

“It's bad that it happened.” Steve twists so he's facing Grant completely and grabs his hands. “Listen to me. Papa and I didn't know you were coming, and the people who made you were bad. But we are so happy they made you. Okay? We wouldn't trade you for anything.”

Grant bites his lip and nods. “Okay,” he says, though he still doesn't sound sure. Steve leans across the center console and hugs Grant tight.

“You're not a science experiment,” he clarifies, getting an idea suddenly. “You're a scientific _marvel_.” He injects as much awe as he can, which isn't hard considering it's how he really feels.

Grant laughs a little at Steve's tone. “What's a marvel?”

“A marvel is something that's amazing,” Steve tells him firmly. “Just like you."

That brings a shy smile to Grant's face, and Steve kisses the top of his head before they get out of the car. He's glad this conversation happened with him instead of Bucky. It's not that he thinks Bucky wouldn't know what to say (in reality, Bucky’s better at this kind of thing than Steve is); it's just that he knows Bucky is intimately aware of the _science experiment_ label applied to himself and he knows thinking about it—and especially thinking about it in relation to Grant, too—would upset Bucky.

Steve thinks that's the end of that. He should have known better. He knows how bullies operate.

 

Grant gets to middle school, and Steve and Bucky have never been called into the principal's office over his behavior. So when Bucky gets the call, he's so shocked his first thought is that something terrible's happened—Grant's hurt, HYDRA attacked, the like. They rush to the school and are stopped short by the sight of Grant sitting sullenly in a chair outside the office, knuckles bleeding, a black eye already blooming.

“Were you _fighting_?” Bucky asks incredulously. Grant has never shown an inclination to hit another person. Even way back in his SHIELD daycare days, he was more likely to withdraw than fight back when someone picked on him.

Grant clenches his jaw and looks away, crossing his arms over his chest. Steve winces at the bruise blooming on his cheek.

“Who were you fighting with?” Steve asks, since Bucky's question seems to have been answered by default.

Grant shrugs. “A kid in my class.”

They wait, but when no further explanation follows, Steve raises an eyebrow. “Who?”

“His name is Gerald Winston. It's not like you know him, so I don't know why you want to know his name so bad.”

Steve and Bucky share a look. Grant's got a streak of sass a mile wide (“Your fault,” Bucky always insists, to which Steve crows incredulously, “Oh, _only_ my fault, Buck, seriously?”), but he's never talked to them like that.

“Where’s he?” Bucky asks. “Don't tell me you're the only one in trouble because you're in the wrong here.”

A sliver of pride shows up in his voice when Grant tells them, “He's still in with the nurse.”

Steve and Bucky are torn between horror and their own pride. If their kid's going to fight, at least he's good at it.

“Mr. Barnes? Mr. Rogers?” The principal comes out of her office. “Come on in.”

“Come on,” Steve says to Grant.

“I thought we'd meet privately before we brought Grant in.”

Bucky looks at her for a second. “Why? It's about him.” He can't remember her name.

“There are some things you may not want Grant to hear.” She sounds a little hesitant now, faced with the combined bulk of two super soldiers and Bucky's suspicious look.

Steve and Bucky look at each other for a second. “Well. I mean. If we're talking about Grant he should probably be in the room.” Steve tries to look reassuring but his mind's racing. What the hell happened? The principal—Ms. Allen, he remembers—purses her lips and shrugs. Grant gets to his feet with a little sigh and follows them into the office.

“Well, as you can guess, Grant was involved in an altercation with another student,” Ms. Allen starts. “His level of aggression was, frankly, a little shocking.”

“Grant?” Bucky asks, pointing a thumb at him like maybe Ms. Allen’s thinking of the wrong kid. “Grant was aggressive?”

“He seems to have some advanced fighting skills.” Ms. Allen's voice is carefully blank but Bucky hears a little shock in there. For the first time, Bucky wonders if teaching a kid to spar for his life—and practice with Natasha—was really a good idea.

“Um, yeah.” Steve rubs at his forehead. “Kind of a family activity, I guess.”

Ms. Allen doesn't laugh. “The other boy's nose is broken and the nurse thinks a rib or two may be as well.”

“Jesus, Grant,” Steve breathes.

“What happened?” Bucky asks. “Grant wouldn't just beat the tar out of some kid unless there was a reason.”

“Mr. Barnes, we have a zero tolerance policy for violence. It doesn't really matter what happened.”

“Excuse me?” Steve's got his indignant voice out now. “Are you trying to say there is _no_ explanation he could give that you would accept?”

“Mr. Rogers—”

“Did you even ask him what happened?” Bucky interrupts. He feels a little guilty, interrupting her like that, but he can't believe this whole situation. Grant doesn't even let them kill spiders. They have to take them outside and set them free.

“He's refusing to talk,” Ms. Allen all but snaps. Steve and Bucky round on Grant.

“Well?” Bucky prompts. Grant shrugs.

“It was between me and Winston and we took care of it.” He tries to sound tough but his lower lip is starting to tremble. He's only thirteen and he's never been in trouble at school in his whole life.

Ms. Allen waves a hand, like Grant's just proved her point, but Steve is well versed in the culture of bullying and schoolyard fights and he narrows his eyes.

“How long has this been going on between you and Winston?” He asks. Grant blinks hard a few times and shrugs, and Steve and Bucky can tell it's because he'll cry if he talks.

“Ms. Allen, what kind of zero tolerance policy are we talking about?” Steve does his best war-bond selling voice, smooth and strong.

“The level of violence involved here is, frankly, shocking. At this point I'm considering expulsion.” She gives Grant a hard look. Grant really does start to cry at that and Bucky feels his eyes bulge out of his head a little.

“He's never been in trouble before,” he points out. “He's never even missed a homework assignment.”

“Zero tolerance means _zero_.” She softens a little. “My hands are a bit tied here. It's a district policy.”

“But is expulsion the district policy?” Steve asks. “What about...what about detention or something?” Even with all the fights they got in, Steve and Bucky had never been threatened with expulsion. Then again, back then the go-to punishment for fighting had been the paddle, and Steve's not exactly in a rush to get that handed down to his kid.

“The best I can do is suspension,” Ms. Allen says. “But it'll have to be at least a week.”

“And what about what's-his-face?” Bucky checks. “He in trouble, too?”

“He will also be suspended,” Ms. Allen assures them.

They take Grant home, and he rides in the back seat silently battling tears all the way. When they get up to their floor, he looks like he's going to try to make an escape to his room, but Bucky pins him down with a look.

“You didn't really think that was gonna be the end of it, did you?” Bucky points to the couch. “Park it, kid.”

Grant's biting the inside of his cheek now, barely hanging on, and Steve and Bucky sit on either side of him.

“Okay,” Steve says. “Let's hear it.”

Grant shakes his head. “No.”

“Grant James Barnes-Rogers, you just got _suspended_. You think you're getting away with not telling us why?”

Tears start slipping down Grant's cheeks and he swallows hard. “It's not—I don't want to tell you.”

“Tough,” Bucky retorts. “Spill.”

Grant takes a big, shuddering breath. “That kid just always says stuff. He's always—always being mean. Since elementary school. I just couldn't take it anymore.”

“He been picking on you? Why didn't you ever say anything?” Bucky demands. Steve gives him a look. This is something Steve understands perfectly.

“Bucky,” he murmurs. “You know why. Same reason I never wanted to tell you.”

Bucky throws his hands up in exasperation and launches off the couch to pace, ranting about “damn Irish” and “pride” and “stubborn ass.” Steve shoots him a look and he runs a hand through his hair. “But, see, if you told us sooner, we could stop it before it gets to this point.”

Steve and Grant both shake their heads. “Tattling makes it worse,” Grant tells the carpet.

“You took care of it for me by knocking their heads around, Buck. You can't do that now.”

“Oh, can't I?” Bucky mutters darkly. He takes a deep breath. “Okay.” He licks his lips. “What kind of stuff does he say?”

Grant mumbles something even enhanced hearing can't pick up. “Is it about your hearing aid?” Steve guesses. Grant purses his lips.

“He calls me a science experiment,” he finally admits quietly. Bucky stops pacing and his spine goes very, very stiff. Steve blows out a breath, remembering their conversation in the car years ago.

“Oh,” he says softly.

“Grant.” Bucky's still half-frozen in the middle of the living room.

“I know,” Grant interrupts quickly. “You're glad I'm here and you love me. It just—” He kicks out at a dust mote floating through the air. “It sucks hearing that.”

“I bet.” Steve reaches out and rests a hand on Grant's shoulder. He feels pretty hesitant about scolding his son right now. It would be hypocritical, to say the least, to tell him fighting isn't the answer.

“You haven't hit him until today,” Bucky points out. “Just couldn't take it anymore, or did he say something else?”

“He said—well, I couldn't take it anymore,” Grant lies. He's not a good liar.

“Grant. Was it about Will?” Steve prompts. Will's been getting more and more flak as the political situation with mutants heats up. Grant's starting to cry again.

“He said...” He looks up quickly at Bucky and down at his lap again, pressing his lips together. Steve feels the calm before the storm come over him.

“He said something about Papa?” He asks evenly. Grant nods.

“What did he say?” Bucky's voice comes out a little strangled. Grant's sniffling hard now, biting his lip and rubbing the heels of his hand into his eyes.

“He said you were a traitor and a m-murderer.” Grant shudders. “He said you sh-should be in jail or—or—” He breaks off, breath hitching. They don't really need him to finish the sentence; they've heard it before. _You deserve to die_ , more than one person has spit at Bucky.

The arm rest gives an ominous little groan under Steve's clenched hand. He's breathing hard. He can't stand when people say that about Bucky; he _can't_. But the fact that not only did someone say that about Bucky, they said it to his _son_ , is making Steve see red.

Bucky sits down heavily beside Grant and pulls him into his arms. “Oh, Grant,” he murmurs, letting the boy cry against his shoulder.

“None of that is true,” Steve grits out.

“Steve,” Bucky says warningly.

“It's not,” Steve insists, almost growling in his anger. “It isn't true.”

“I know.” Grant's voice is muffled against Bucky's shirt.

Bucky chews his lip for a minute and then pulls Grant out of his arms a little. “Grant,” he says seriously. “Listen to me.”

“Bucky,” Steve hisses, because he can see what Bucky has in mind. Bucky meets his eye, steady and unflinching, and Steve shuts up.

“Look, kid. The truth is...I did kill people.” Bucky keeps his shoulders square as he says it.

“In war,” Grant sniffs. “That's not the same as murdering someone. Murder is bad but in war—it's different. Dad killed people in war, too.” Steve gives Bucky a triumphant look that he ignores.

“I killed people not in the war, too,” Bucky says gently. “When I was with HYDRA.”

Grant's eyes have gone wide. “You did?”

“He didn't choose to.” Steve can't help it; he has to break in. “He didn't murder anyone because you have to choose to murder someone. HYDRA made him.”

Grant looks at Bucky. “Did they make you?” He asks, voice small. Bucky takes a deep breath. It's been a long time, over a decade now, but he's still at war with himself over the accountability of being the Winter Soldier.

“Yes, they made me,” he says quietly. “I didn't want to.”

Steve wants to launch himself across the couch and onto Bucky's lap, wants to kiss Bucky so hard for so long neither of them can breathe afterward, because the closest he's come to this is agreeing when Steve says it. He's never verbally acknowledged that HYDRA made him do it; so far he's always said _they pointed me but I still killed the targets_.

“So it wasn't murder?” Grant clarifies, still wide-eyed and worried.

“Papa's never murdered anyone,” Steve says fiercely.

Grant takes his time thinking all this over, but he lays his head back down on Bucky's chest and snuggles in close. He pops his feet into Steve's lap.

“I don't want you to die,” he finally says tearfully.

“Hey, now, I'm not going anywhere,” Bucky reassures him. It certainly looks true; neither Steve nor Bucky have so much as a gray hair, though they’re both starting to develop crow’s feet. “Can't get rid of me that easy.” Steve used to tell him that after every illness, when he could see worry etched into Bucky's face.

“That's why I had to punch him,” Grant admits. “He said that and I knew it was wrong and I got so mad.”

“It's right to stand up for your family,” Steve says. He's not sure what else to add. He’s not sure there’s much else he feels just then.

“But you don't need to go fighting for me, alright?” Bucky runs a hand through Grant's hair. “I'm a tough guy. I can handle my own fights.”

“You weren't there,” Grant points out. “And you can't fight a kid.”

“Grant, that guy's a bully.” This, at least, is within Steve's depth. “He never would've said that if there was a grownup around. He said that because he knew it would hurt your feelings.”

“So I shouldn't fight?” Grant asks. Steve and Bucky exchange a look. Neither of them can really say that with clear consciences.

“You should defend people who can't do it themselves,” Steve ventures.

“But maybe not so much,” Bucky adds. “Not at school anyway. If you're alone and no help's coming, you fight your hardest. But at school teachers are gonna come. No breaking people's ribs.”

“Okay,” Grant agrees. “What if he says that stuff about you again?”

Steve coughs to cover up his snort. “I don't think he'll try messing with you again.”

Bucky's biting his lip to hide a smile. “Yeah, I think you got rid of that one, pal.”

They can't look at each other or they'll laugh. This is not a good time to laugh. For one thing, Steve's still not sure Bucky's all the way okay with the whole conversation that just transpired. For another, their kid just got suspended and seriously injured another child. Bully or no, that’s a hurt kid, and that’s not funny, especially considering the ideologies he was spitting are most likely things he’s overheard and probably doesn’t fully understand.

“Can I go see Pizza Dog?” Grant asks hopefully. Lucky's getting old; so far this year, Grant has run down to Clint's to check on Lucky every day after school because Clint's pretty sure Lucky won't hang on much longer. Steve's more worried about how Clint will take it than Grant.

“Sure,” Steve says. He feels a little bit bad, like they're rewarding their son after he just got suspended, but he figures after all that emotional upheaval Grant needs some Lucky time. And Steve needs some Bucky time. He smirks a little to himself and saves that one for a later date.

Steve and Bucky stay on the couch as Grant hops up and leaves. Bucky blows out a long breath after the front door has closed and tips his head back to rest against the couch. Steve wriggles over into the vacant spot Grant left behind.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

“Hey,” Bucky responds. He rolls his head so he can look at Steve and gives him a small, tired smile. Steve reaches out and tucks Bucky's hair behind his ear.

“Alright?” He asks. Bucky closes his eyes as Steve starts stroking his hair.

“I don't know,” he sighs. “Thought it was bad enough when _I_ had to worry about what I'd done. Now the kid's gotta deal with this shit?”

“If it wasn't this it'd be something else,” Steve says. “Me, probably. I'm sure they'll give him shit about me still, too.”

“So he'll get twice the shit. Great.”

“I don't think anyone's going to mess with him for a while,” Steve points out. “He got himself a reputation today.”

“Yeah, now they're all thinking like father, like son,” Bucky says bitterly. “Violence in his blood.”

Steve runs his hand down Bucky's arm and catches his hand at the bottom, raising Bucky's hand to his lips to kiss the callouses on his palm. “I hope someday you believe what you told Grant.”

Bucky's eyes squeeze shut for a second. “My own son looked at me and was worried I'm a killer.”

“He knows you're not.”

They're quiet, just holding hands, not even looking at each other. Steve draws circles on Bucky's hand with his thumb. They can hear the clock in the kitchen ticking away.

“I almost do,” Bucky whispers. “I'm almost there, Stevie.”

“Well, I'll just keep telling you until you're all the way,” Steve promises. Bucky drops his head down to rest on Steve's shoulder and they're quiet again.

“You know,” Bucky says, and Steve can hear the joke in his tone. It still makes him warm right down to his bones to hear Bucky teasing and laughing again. “I heard about, uh, positive reinforcement.”

“Oh, yeah?” Steve squirms around so they're face each other. “Like you get a treat when you do something good?”

“Mm-hmm. You could give me a treat when I say it wasn't my fault.” Bucky wiggles his eyebrows.

Steve feels a grin starting slow on his face. “And just what kind of treat you got in mind? A cookie?”

“Some sugar, that's for sure.”

Steve hums in thought. “What, like a spoonful?”

Bucky wrinkles his nose at him. “Gimme a kiss.”

“Bossy,” Steve accuses before complying. Bucky smiles against his mouth and Steve sighs a little in happiness.

“Technically I said it twice just now," Bucky points out after a pause. Steve laughs out loud.

“Can't get enough of me, huh?”

“Never.”

The second kiss turns into a third and a fourth, and then a fifth. Steve pulls back. “You're cheating.”

Bucky huffs at him. “Maybe I'm just giving you _your_ treat for being good.”

“What am I getting this positive reinforcement for?”

Bucky kisses him again. “I'll think of something.”


	14. Cheek to Cheek

Steve frowns a little when his phone lights up with a call from the head of the PTA. He and Bucky are happy to be involved in Grant’s school, but they tend to get called in to do public appearances and heavy-lifting type activities. There’s nothing wrong with it, of course—why shouldn’t they help lift when they’re both far more capable than any of the other parents?—but sometimes it’s kind of a drag to turn around after setting up tables to see a gaggle of moms watching and giggling.

“Steve Rogers,” he answers, only a little reluctantly.

“Hi, Steve!” Marissa is always very bubbly. “Look, I know this is last minute, but Lindsey Tipper and her husband just backed out as chaperones for the dance Friday. Do you think you and James could fill in?”

“Uh,” Steve hesitates. Grant hasn’t said a word about a dance. If he’s not planning on going, why should Steve have to? But he remembers smoky dance halls and Bucky grinning wide, pushing his sweaty hair off his forehead, grabbing a drink and a date and hitting the floor to get to jitterbugging, and he knows he can’t turn this down. “What time?”

At dinner that night, Steve clears his throat and gives Grant a careful look. “So. School dance on Friday?”

Bucky looks up quickly in time to see Grant make a face and go back to his chicken.

“You don’t want to go?” Bucky asks. Grant shrugs.

“Seems kinda stupid,” he mutters. “I don’t have a date, anyway.”

“Well, we just got asked to chaperone,” Steve says, and now Bucky gives him kind of a side-eye. “Someone else signed up to do it but can’t.”

“Have fun,” Grant says carelessly.

“Aw, come on, dances are fun,” Bucky wheedles, grinning. “You can dance with a bunch of different dames and find the best dancer. Or fellas, I guess, that’s probably alright now. Whatever you like.”

Grant mumbles something and rounds his shoulders and Steve is suddenly viscerally aware of what the problem is. How many times did he and Bucky have similar conversations? How many times did Steve duck his head and sit at the table all night nursing a gin?

“Papa can teach you to dance,” Steve tells him gently. Grant blushes a little, but Bucky’s face positively lights up.

“You want me to?” He asks, and he’s so hopeful and excited Steve’s stomach hurts a little. Bucky just doesn’t quite get so excited about things anymore. He used to be a little like a puppy when he really liked something—bouncing around with joy, smiling, snapping his fingers. It’s usually hard to get that kind of reaction out of him now, but he’s bouncing his leg at the table now in anticipation and Steve prays hard Grant doesn’t turn it down.

“I guess,” Grant says, a little petulantly, but he’s peeking up a little shyly and Steve can tell his reluctance is about sixty percent hormonal tough-guy play-acting.

Bucky jumps up from the table right away and Grant shoots Steve a look. Steve just smiles back and waves a hand at Grant to get him to follow Bucky to the living room.

“Alright,” Bucky rubs his hands together excitedly. “Dancing’s not too different from sparring, you know.” He starts guiding Grant through some easy steps without music first, and Grant picks it up much faster than Steve ever did. Soon Bucky puts on some big band swing and Steve pulls out his phone to record Bucky and Grant lindy hopping around the living room, laughing and trading off leading.

Then, of course, they’re off on a tour of the dance styles Bucky honed through his teenage years and early 20s, and Steve loves the awe on Grant’s face as Bucky effortlessly shows off. Bucky notices the camera and grins at Steve, hamming it up for a second before coming to a stop with a laugh.

“Get over here, Rogers,” he commands, hands on his hips.

“Oh, no way,” Steve protests. “You know I can’t dance.”

“I know you’ve always known more than you let on, and I know you picked up some steps in your USO days. Come on.”

Grant comes over to take the phone from Steve and Steve laughs. “No way!”

Bucky’s shimmying around. “Dance with me, Stevie!” He waggles his eyebrows and Steve shakes his head, smiling, but relents. How can he turn that down?

Grant’s cracking up as Steve falls into step beside Bucky, relishing the feeling of dancing together. They never really got to do this before—Steve’s legs and crooked back usually ached too much to really dance, aside from a few slow dances they could only enjoy in the privacy of their own apartment. It’s nice to keep time with Bucky, to see the way his eyes are sparkling, to remember all the times Steve watched, aching with jealousy, as Bucky did with this with beautiful girls.

Then, of course, Bucky’s got to teach Grant to slow dance, and Steve’s all too happy to help with that demonstration.

“You keep your hand right above a girl’s hip, you hear me? We can get real familiar ‘cause we’re married but don’t you be getting fresh,” Bucky warns, demonstrating by resting his hand higher on Steve’s hip than he normally would.

“Always be a gentleman,” Steve adds. “Don’t ever take liberties. Even if you’re going steady with a girl, don’t kiss and tell and don’t get fresh in public.”

“That’s right,” Bucky agrees. Grant’s face is scarlet.

“I’m not—I don’t _want_ a girlfriend,” he stammers.

“Boyfriend?” Bucky asks with a shrug. “Don’t know how to tell you this, kid, but we won’t mind.”

“No, I just...I don’t know, I don’t like _anyone_ like that.”

“That’s fine,” Steve reassures him quickly. “I didn’t like anyone when I was your age, either.” At fourteen, Steve hadn’t even realized he liked Bucky romantically.

“Did Papa?”

“Papa liked everyone.” Steve rolls his eyes good-naturedly and Bucky dips him in retaliation, making Steve squawk because he wasn’t ready.

Grant goes off to his room to do his homework and Steve starts clearing the dinner dishes from the table. He’s got the tap running, whistling, when Bucky’s arms slide around his waist from behind.

“Oh, hello,” Steve says. Bucky hooks his chin on Steve’s shoulder and sways them both gently.

“Heaven, I’m in heaven,” Bucky croons in Steve’s ear. “And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak.”

Steve can’t push down the grin splitting his face. “And I seem to find the happiness I seek,” he continues the song quietly, a little more shy about it than Bucky.

“When we’re out together dancing cheek to cheek,” Bucky finishes. Steve can feel him smiling and it makes him smile more.

“You’re sweet tonight,” Steve comments. They’re still swaying, Bucky’s arm tight around Steve’s middle.

“We’re going dancing,” Bucky points out. “You know how I like that.”

“I know,” Steve agrees. “Only reason I said yes.”

Bucky snorts. “You said yes because you’re a pushover and you hate disappointing people.”

Steve huffs. “Well, I also know how you love dancing.”

Bucky laughs fondly. “Ah, high school dances,” he says. “The good ol’ days.”

“I hated every high school dance you dragged me to,” Steve reminds him. Bucky smiles and turns his head to plant a kiss on Steve’s cheek.

“Maybe you’ll like this one better.”

 

Grant doesn’t have a date, but Steve and Bucky assure him that’s fine. They make a few stops to pick up some of Grant’s friends, who he’d mostly begged to come since he was going, and a boy named Matthew stares and Steve and Bucky, wide-eyed, until Will rolls his eyes and tells Matthew to calm down.

The gym is all streamer and twinkle-light decorated and there are clumps of awkward teenagers all around them, some with dates and some in groups of all girls or all boys. There’s a lot of quick eye-contact and looking away going on. Steve remembers how much he hated all this the first time around.

“Have fun,” Bucky says as the boys split off to find other friends, leaving Steve and Bucky standing sort of awkwardly. “What do chaperones do?”

“I have no idea,” Steve admits. “Make sure no one spikes the punch?”

There’s already a middle-aged woman prowling the punchbowl, however, so they end up shuffling around, enforcing the dance guidelines. When kids are looking a little too comfy, it takes barely more than a raised eyebrow from Bucky to get them to spring apart, blushing.

The real trouble is the older kids, the juniors and seniors. They’re the ones in dark corners necking, and Steve is horribly flustered when he has to break them up.

“Uh, now, let’s not—why don’t you go on out and dance,” he stammers. A petulant teenage boy quickly turns starry-eyed as he realizes who Steve is, and his date goes scarlet.

“We just got caught making out by _Captain America_ ,” she moans miserably.

“Don’t worry,” Bucky winks. “He does it, too.”

“Bucky!” Steve hisses. “I don’t think that’s the message we’re supposed to be sending.”

Steve feels too self-conscious to dance, because word’s spreading through the crowd that Captain America’s at the dance and people are watching. He knows he should dance with Bucky—Bucky’s been excited for this for the last two days, and Steve doesn’t want to disappoint him. But he can feel so many eyes on him. Even if they’re just teenagers, they’re still watching.

“Relax,” Bucky mutters, huffing a laugh. “We don’t have to dance.”

“But you want to. _I_ want to. I want to dance with you.”

“Steve, dancing at home’s fine with me.”

“But we can dance in _public_ now and I want to.” Steve squares his shoulders. “Next song. You and me. Jitterbug.”

“Am I the jitterbug or are you?”

“You, obviously.” Steve laughs a little. “I’ll probably fall over.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “You don’t give yourself enough credit but we can table this argument for now because I really want to be the jitterbug.”

Steve makes good on his promise, and they gather quite the crowd. The music’s not what they’re used to for this, obviously, but they make it work. People are appropriately impressed with Bucky’s impressive footwork.

“Grant, come on!” Bucky urges, spotting their son in the circle of people watching. Grant’s eyes go wide as everyone looks at him. “Grab a partner and get in here!”

Grant flushes awkwardly and shakes his head quickly, darting glances at the kids around him. An older girl, almost a whole head taller than he is and with dreadlocks spilling down her back, comes to stand in front of Grant.

“You know how to do that?” She asks, hooking a finger toward Steve and Bucky. Grant’s blush deepens but he raises his chin and puts on a smirk he had to have picked up from Bucky. Although Bucky at fourteen actually hadn’t been all that charming, truth be told. It may not have gone down in the history books, but that doesn’t mean Steve forgot about the time Bucky accidentally spit on Alice Walker while he was talking to her and spent months mortified beyond belief.

“Sure,” Grant says, only sounding slightly breathless, ears red at the tips. He offers her his hand and they enter the circle and start dancing.

They dance two or three more songs, with Bucky occasionally jumping away from Steve to help some of the kids master the steps, and Steve can’t stop staring in awe at Bucky. This is so much closer to the young, carefree Bucky from before the war than Steve’s seen him even since Zola’s table, let alone becoming the Winter Solder.

He’s flushed with exertion and happiness, and he hasn’t stopped smiling the whole time. He’s not ducking his head uncomfortably, not hiding in the shadows, not trying to avoid everyone’s eyes on him. He’s soaking up the attention, relishing the admiration everyone’s giving him. He’s not even hiding his metal hand, even touching people with it to correct their form.

The DJ switches to a slow song, and Bucky comes back to Steve, still smiling. He’s practically glowing and Steve feels such a swell of love and gratitude for Bucky that his chest hurts a little. He pulls Bucky in close and rests their heads together, letting out a little sigh.

“What’re you smiling at, big guy?” Bucky asks, a smile of his own in his voice.

“You,” Steve answers truthfully. “Showing off for everyone. You look good.”

Bucky laughs. “You like watching my hips when I dance.”

“Sure do,” Steve murmurs, tightening his arm around Bucky’s waist a little. He wonders if chaperones get in trouble for necking in the corner, too.

He feels punchy, young and in love and ready to burst from it. They’re old men—even without being frozen, they’re both over forty now, not really old but so much older than Steve ever expected to live—and they’re married and have a teenager who’s blushing his way through a slow dance with the tall girl he’d lindy hopped with, but Steve feels sixteen again, blood fizzing with Bucky pressed up close to him, unable to think about anything but Bucky’s eyes and Bucky’s lips and Bucky’s hands.

“You gonna kiss me?” Bucky dares, and Steve pushes back a little to look into his eyes and sees Bucky’s feeling it too. Maybe it’s the high school gym or the lights, maybe it’s the dancing, hell, maybe somebody _did_ spike the punch, but they’re both feeling like schoolboys again and Steve goes with the moment, leaning in to press his lips to Bucky’s, heart pounding away like it’s the first time again.

Bucky’s lips curve up into a smile against his and Steve smiles back, an unconscious response to Bucky’s smiles that he’ll probably never grow out of. “Boy, Stevie, whoever taught you how to kiss sure did a swell job.”

“I’ll be sure to pass on your compliments,” Steve teases. Bucky bites at Steve’s bottom lip to get him back and Steve has to bite back a moan. _That_ would definitely be too much for the high school gym.

A video of their jitterbug—and later in the dance, when some kids taught Bucky a modern dance move that mostly seemed to involve gyrating his hips—goes viral and ends up on the news, delighting the whole world, apparently. Steve’s just excited people are talking about something fun with regard to Bucky, instead of dredging up the Winter Soldier’s assassinations like they usually do whenever Bucky comes up, even a decade after he broke his programming.

Two weeks later, Grant comes home asking Bucky to come be the advisor for a swing dance club he and the tall girl, Julia, want to start up, and he excitedly shows Bucky the list of forty kids who want to join. Bucky looks shocked.

“All of ‘em are fine with me teaching?” He asks apprehensively.

“Half of them didn’t even sign up until I promised you’d be there,” Grant assures him with a grin.

“Well, alright,” Bucky murmurs, his smile tinged with wonder. Steve goes along sometimes, because it’s fun and sometimes it’s easier for Bucky to show off the moves with a partner he’s comfortable with. Besides, Steve can’t be the only one in the family not participating.

He loves dancing with Bucky, and he still loves watching Bucky dance—always has, even when his watching was tinged with an ache of longing—but he thinks his favorite has to be their private slow dances, alone in the kitchen or the living room or their bedroom, barely more than a slight sway, with Bucky’s arms wrapped tight around him and Bucky’s honey-smooth voice murmuring sweet songs in his ear. It’s something that hasn’t changed since the last century, and Steve could live for a hundred more years and still never get tired of it.


	15. First Date

Grant’s not paying attention during his sparring session with Natasha, and she makes him pay for it. If it were any of the other Avengers, they’d go easy on him, but Natasha doesn’t pull punches just because he’s only fifteen; Natasha uses his distraction to show him how an enemy would use it to their advantage. She flips his legs out from under him and he goes down hard, groaning a little.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Grant says before she can berate him, not that she was going to do more than raise her eyebrows at him, probably, maybe smirk at him upside-down from his sprawl on the mat. Natasha doesn’t lecture.

“Something wrong?” She asks mildly, which is practically prying for her. Grant knows he gets the same special privileges his dads and the rest of the team get—a sort of _family discount_ , maybe—with Natasha, because he’s seen her with other people, outside people, and he’s seen the way she’s far more guarded and closed off than she is with the Avengers.

He knows, technically, he has three aunts from Bucky’s side, and he does spend time with his Barnes relatives, but when he thinks of family his first thought is a mish-mash of heritages and abilities, a lot of spandex, bickering over Saturday movie nights and horrifying quantities of food. Those are the people who helped raise him, who came to his Little League games and gymnastics competitions and taught him to fight and speak multiple languages and play pranks and slipped him extra cookies when his parents weren’t looking.

And it’s because he considers her family, an aunt, really, that he flushes embarrassedly at Natasha’s question. It’s _awkward_. He’s not sure he can talk about this to _anyone_. But Natasha is waiting patiently, and Grant’s been stewing over this for a while now, and it boils over.

“How do you know if someone likes you?” He blurts out. Her face doesn’t change, and he remembers how frustrating it can be to talk about personal issues with spies.

“Well,” she says carefully. “Do you know this person well?”

Grant shrugs. “Kinda? We’ve had a few classes together.”

“So, not well enough to pick up on body language cues?” She says this with no judgment, even though Grant knows she picks up on body language cues the second she lays eyes on someone.

“I’m trying to pick up on body language cues but it seems like every day I get _different_ cues.” He blows out a frustrated breath. “Shoulda just found someone the minute I was born like Dad and Papa.”

Natasha grins. “Not that I’m mad, but just out of curiosity—why are you asking me and not them?”

Grant scoffs. “Obviously _they_ don’t know how to talk to _girls_.”

That makes Natasha actually laugh. “Your dad is fairly helpless,” she agrees. “But your papa was actually quite the charmer back in his day.”

Grant wrinkles his nose a little, completely unable to picture Bucky putting the moves on anyone other than Steve. “Like the way he talks to waitresses and cashiers?"

Natasha snorts. “Yeah, but with a little more intent behind it.”

He blushes scarlet as his imagination works through what she’s saying, and he quickly banishes the image. He’d rather not think of his parents and sex in the same sphere.

“What kinds of signals are you picking up on?” Natasha drops gracefully to the mat to sit crisscrossed beside him.

“Well, she touches my arm a lot when we’re talking,” Grant starts. “And—she laughs at my jokes? They’re really funny, though, so I’m not sure about that one.”

Natasha presses her lips together and he sticks out his tongue at her. “Does she angle her body toward or away from you when you talk?” She asks. Grant scrunches up his face in concentration.

“Ah…I don’t know?”

“Pay attention next time you talk to her,” Natasha instructs. “Let’s run this like an op: I need you to gather information so I can make an informed decision.”

It was a game they used to play when he was a little boy; any time he needed to really focus on something, Natasha would frame it like a mission: she’d give him a “briefing” where she laid out the objectives and appropriate equipment and give him a time frame for completion. It wasn’t so much training him from a young age to be a superspy so much as it was the best (possibly only) way Natasha knew to relate to children. Grant had loved it, and he can’t help but perk up a little now.

“I can do that,” he says confidently. “I have math with her tomorrow.”

Natasha nods. “What’s her name?”

Grant’s eyes bulge out a little. “Why?” He demands. “You’re not gonna look her up on the internet, are you?”

“Part of the mission,” she points out. Grant sighs.

“Kayden Clark.” Later he’ll find out Natasha ran background checks on Kayden and both her parents. As did both his parents. And Tony. Clint and Sam casually cruised by her house, Sam with the wings and Clint hanging onto Sam with the harness. Thor actually had _Heimdall_ spy on her. His family is ridiculous.

 

“Your son is going through puberty,” Natasha announces, conveniently right when Steve is taking a drink of his coffee. He chokes and sputters.

“Uh, we sort of know that,” Bucky says, throwing a napkin at Steve. “He’s fifteen. He’s grown four inches in the last year and washes his own sheets.”

“What happened?” Steve asks apprehensively. His face colors. “Oh, no, was it while you were sparring? It’s not necessarily that he thinks of you sexually, honestly, it’s—”

Natasha cuts him off with an upheld hand. “One, I know that, Steve. I’ve been in this line of work for a very long time. Two, _God_ , no. He asked me about a girl he goes to school with.”

Steve relaxes visibly. “Kayden Clark?” He guesses. Bucky rolls his eyes a little.

“And ain’t that a monstrosity of a name.”

Natasha agrees and they all pretend James Buchanan Barnes isn’t possibly just as bad. “He’s going to log her nonverbal signals today and report back so I can help him decide if she likes him,” she continues. “But he told me he hadn’t talked to you two about her.”

“Oh, he hasn’t told us he likes her.” Steve shrugs. “But he mentions her about every other sentence. Plus he’s been mentioning how awful it is to be the third wheel with Will and his girlfriend, Bethany.”

“He should really just ask her out,” Bucky opines. “No better way of knowing if a dame likes you.”

“What about a fella?” Steve challenges. Bucky makes a face.

“Nah, you gotta ask a man to marry you before you know if he likes you.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Maybe we should ask him if he likes anyone.”

“I don’t know.” Natasha smirks a little. “He seemed pretty convinced neither of you could give him advice on how to talk to girls.”

Bucky looks indignant. “’Scuse me! I had the pick of the crop in my day.”

“He really did,” Steve agrees easily.

“I told him you were very charming.” Natasha shrugs. “He didn’t seem to buy it.”

Bucky harrumphs a little. “I could write a book on how to talk to girls! Boys, too, thank you very much.”

“I did always hope we could have sleepovers and eat cookie dough and talk about boy,” Natasha deadpans. “But you chose Steve over me.”

“Hey, listen, we don’t do much _talking_ , if you catch my drift.” Bucky wiggles his eyebrows and Natasha snorts. Steve jabs an elbow into Bucky’s side. It's an outright lie and everyone present knows Steve and Bucky spend the majority of their time talking and teasing each other and giggling like kids.

“He’s full of applesauce,” he tells Natasha, who really doesn’t know what that expression’s supposed to mean but appreciates the teasing looks the boys are giving each other.

“Give you applesauce,” Bucky mutters.

“Sure you will,” Steve counters.

The door opens and Grant slips in, pink-cheeked and starry-eyed. The three adults hide their smiles.

“How was school?” Bucky asks innocently.

“Great,” Grant answers dreamily. “I have a date.” He seems to come to himself at those words. “Is that okay?”

“You seem pretty happy about it,” Steve says neutrally. A grin lights up Grant’s face.

“ _Yeah_ , I am,” he breathes.

“Then of course it’s okay,” Bucky finishes Steve’s thought.

“Mission successful?” Natasha asks. Grant turns his dazzling smile on her.

“ _So_ successful,” he reports. “She was leaning toward me when I talked so I just—I thought, you know, I can be brave. I been through worse than a girl rejecting me! So I asked her out and she said _yes_.”

“Where are you guys going?” Steve asks.

“I’m sure Tony will let you drive one of his cars,” Natasha says innocently, fully aware both that Grant doesn’t have his license and the statement is probably entirely true. Bucky’s face drains of color and Steve’s eyes go wide.

“Whoa, now—” Bucky holds up a hand.

Grant waves a careless hand, rolling his eyes. “She said her mom probably wouldn’t like her actually going _out_ out, so she’s just going to come here and we’ll watch a movie.” He turns pleading eyes to Steve and Bucky. “If that’s okay?”

“And by _if that’s okay_ you mean if we’ll scram?” Bucky guesses mildly. Grant smiles sheepishly.

“Well…now hang on a minute…” Steve splutters a little. “Is that—I mean. Unsupervised? Maybe we should…” He shrugs. Everyone’s quiet for a minute before Bucky starts guffawing at Steve.

“Jesus, Stevie, be just a little more awkward, please. They’re just kids.”

“They’re fifteen,” Steve hisses at Bucky.

“Yeah, and when we were fift—” Bucky cuts himself off abruptly and snaps his head around quickly to look at Grant. “Uh, yeah. I’m gonna have to go with we’re staying here.”

“What were you doing when you were fifteen?” Grant asks curiously.

“Yes, please do tell,” Natasha chimes in as Steve’s face goes crimson. Bucky wags a finger at Natasha.

“Don’t rile him up,” he scolds. “Grant, we’re not going to crash your movie but we’re going to be in our room.”

“Probably doing what I’m sure you were doing when you were fifteen,” Natasha mutters under her breath. Steve snorts and then tries to look serious, the tips of his ears still bright red.

Realization clouds Grant’s face and he turns redder than Steve. “Gross!” He complains, heading down the hall to his room.

“You both seem…oddly okay with this,” Natasha comments. Steve and Bucky have been somewhat dragging their heels over Grant growing up. It’s not that they don’t want him to grow up, but they’re always going on about how they _can’t believe_ how fast it happened.

“Bucky ran a background check the first time Grant mentioned her name,” Steve tattles. Bucky gives him a dirty look.

“Steve ran by her house every day for two weeks to see if she really lived there,” he retaliates.

Steve’s mouth drops open in protest. “I can’t help it if her house is on my running route!”

“You looked up her address and conveniently made a new running route.”

“I don’t like to run the same route forever.”

“Which I approve of; don’t get too set in routines or someone can watch your routines and come after you.” Bucky nods, then remembers they’re play-fighting and shakes his head. “But you’re still creepier.”

“You’re both pretty creepy,” Natasha points out, pretending she didn’t already run her own background check and visit the school to catch a glimpse of the girl. If she’s very honest with herself, part of her is sure this is some kind of trap for their sweet Grant. Not because she doesn’t trust Grant’s judgment or think there’s anything wrong with the girl—so far, on paper, she seems perfectly normal; the problem is, Natasha may possibly also be guilty of looking at Grant and still seeing a crying three-year-old standing at attention, worried about getting punished violently for speaking.

She is simultaneously horrified and proud of herself for the feelings she’s having.

 

“What about this one?” Grant asks, holding up the third blue shirt in ten minutes. Will had given him the initial three shirts to choose from, but he’d had a family dinner and couldn’t stick around to help Grant get ready.

“That’s a good color with your eyes,” Steve says, the same thing he said with the other two and the same thing he’ll say if Grant pulls out another blue shirt.

“Pair it with black jeans and you’re golden,” Bucky agrees. Really, if Grant stops to think about it, his parents are far more fashionable than any of his friends’ parents. They’re both technically about 40 or 110 years old, depending on how you look at things, making them simultaneously younger and much older than his friends’ parents, but neither look older than their early thirties. They still dress pretty in-line with how Grant sees his (technically distant) cousins in college dress.

But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want a second opinion.

“What do you think?” Grant asks, turning around to the gathered crowd of Avengers. He’s kind of specifically asking the younger members of the team, like Darcy and Kate and America and Eli, but he values Sam, Rhodey, Carol, Clint, Tony, Bruce, and Pepper, too. He doesn’t know if Thor will have any good suggestions; he asked Grant if he wanted to borrow a cape.

Natasha isn’t there, and Grant’s known her long enough to be slightly worried about that.

“Bucky’s right,” Darcy tells him. “That blue shirt; button it _almost_ all the way, but leave the top, hmm, two buttons unbuttoned, roll the sleeves to the elbow, black jeans—you’ll look hot.”

“Oh my God,” Rhodey murmurs. “This is making me feel so incredibly old.”

“How do you think _I_ feel?” Bruce mutters. “I could practically be his grandfather.”

“I feel pretty torn,” Sam comments. “I mean, on the one hand, I want to help our boy look his best, and so I say: yes, two buttons unbuttoned. On the other, I remember tricking this kid into eating peas, and so I say: put on that Captain America shirt, grab Bucky Bear, and get in bed, G-man. Did you brush your teeth? How many times am I gonna have to read your Bernstein Bears book?”

“Welcome to our world,” Steve says ruefully. Grant makes a face at everyone.

“Are you guys _all_ going to be weird about this?”

“I won’t,” America shrugs. “I met you like four years ago. I don’t care what you wear.”

“You know, you could wear a tux,” Tony suggests, _again_. “Nothing gets the ladies like showing your money.”

“The last time I wore a tux, I was seven,” Grant points out, referring to Rhodey’s wedding to Carol.

“And you were adorable,” Steve reminds him wistfully. Grant gives him a warning look that makes Bucky laugh.

“Stark, you finally invent that time machine? Coulda sworn that was Steve getting mad at me for being disrespectful about Annie Epstein’s skirts.”

Pepper stands up and motions for everyone to follow her lead. “Grant has chosen what he’s going to wear, and now we’re going to leave him alone and let him get ready.” It’s worded like a suggestion but the tone says it’s a command. Everyone obeys.

“You’ll be great, G-man,” Sam encourages, shooting finger guns at Grant. “Give her the dimples.”

“You could always show off your archery,” Clint suggests. “You’re a great shot.”

“Yeah, that’ll impress her.” Darcy rolls her eyes.

“Hey,” Kate protests as everyone leaves the room.

“Some people happen to like arrows,” Clint’s voice drifts back.

“Romanoff doesn’t count.”

“ _Tony_.”

Steve and Bucky are still standing there. Grant looks at them expectantly. They look back at him.

“Can I change?”

“Oh, sure, now he’s all modest,” Bucky mutters. Steve rolls his eyes and tugs Bucky out of the room. “But we’ll see if he changes his tune when it’s time to gel his hair up.”

To be fair, he _does_ ask for Bucky’s help.

 

“Mr. Grant, sir, your guest has arrived in the lobby,” Jarvis announces. Grant stops fidgeting and sucks in a breath.

“Okay,” he gulps. “She’s here.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “She can’t get up here until you let her up,” he reminds Grant. Will’s had security clearance since second grade, so he can stroll on up to the Avengers’ floors any time he wants. A few of Grant’s other close friends have clearance, too, but there’s absolutely no way they were going to give some random girl clearance for one date.

“Right!” Grant dashes to the door, then stops and takes a deep breath. “I look good?” He asks, and suddenly he could be five again, needing reassurance before going to school.

“You look great,” Steve assures him.

“She’s gonna be starry-eyed,” Bucky promises. Steve grins at that; Bucky used to say that to him before every single date he dragged Steve on.

He rushes out of the room to go down to the lobby and Steve and Bucky look at each other. “How sweaty do you think his hands are?” Bucky asks.

“Tropical,” Steve says confidently, basing it totally on his own experience.

“Can’t believe he already wants to date,” Bucky shakes his head. Steve laughs a little.

“Already?” He asks. “Buck, you got your first kiss when you were thirteen. Grant’s a late bloomer compared to you.”

“But he’s just a kid!” Bucky protests weakly. “I was a very mature thirteen.”

Now Steve’s really laughing. “Try selling your snake oil somewhere else, Barnes. I was there.” Bucky pinches him in retaliation, and they’re still poking at each other when the door swings open and Grant steps in with Kayden. She seems like a pretty typical teenage girl; Bucky hasn’t been around many of them since the 40s, but Steve’s given speeches at high schools and she seems like most of the girls he’s seen. She’s cute, and looks excited to be there, so that’s acceptable.

“Wow,” she breathes when she sees them both stand up to greet her.

“Hi,” Steve says warmly. “I’m Steve.”

“K-Kayden,” she stammers, eyes wide as she shakes Steve’s hand.

“I’m Bucky,” Bucky says. It doesn’t escape him that she hesitates a little before taking his proffered hand. He can tell from the way Steve tenses a little that he noticed it, too.

“I’ve met so many Avengers tonight,” Kayden laughs breathlessly. Bucky shoots Grant a questioning look.

“Natasha let her in the building,” he says, rolling his eyes. “She just _happened_ to be coming in at the same time.”

Steve presses his lips together so he doesn’t laugh. “Well, that was convenient.”

Grant shakes his head. “Yeah. Convenient.”

“Okay.” Bucky claps his hands together and tries to ignore Kayden’s slight flinch. “Steve and I are gonna…be in the back, there.” He jerks his thumb down the hall.

“You guys need snacks?” Steve asks. “Popcorn? Soda? We could probably find real movie theater candy, actually.”

“I know there’s licorice in the cabinet,” Bucky says.

“Oh—there’s actually not,” Steve admits guiltily. “But we could find some in the theater room.”

“There’s a theater room?” Kayden asks, eyes still wide. There’s an awkward sort of pause, where it’s kind of obvious she wants to see it but doesn’t want to ask and Grant struggles with what to do.

“It’s, uh, it’s booked tonight,” Bucky lies, just to spare Grant from prolonged discomfort. Kayden looks a little disappointed.

“We can make our own popcorn,” Grant says, widening his eyes pointedly.

“Right.” Bucky nods. “You want me to get the popcorn maker out?”

“No, thank you, I can handle it.” Grant injects a warning tone into his voice and Steve and Bucky concede defeat, retreating down the hall to their bedroom.

“I’ll go get a glass of water in half an hour,” Steve whispers.

“And I’ll get us some snacks in forty-five minutes,” Bucky agrees. They lie back on their bed, resting against the headboard. Steve pulls out a sketchbook and Bucky picks up the book from his nightstand. After a few minutes, he sighs and puts it down.

“This is boring,” he complains.

“Buck, this is probably what we’d be doing even if she wasn’t here,” Steve points out.

“Yeah, but knowing they’re out there makes this boring.”

“Well, if you’re suggesting we sneak down the hall and eavesdrop, that would be wrong.”

Bucky laughs. “I wasn’t suggesting that, but you were obviously thinking about it.”

Steve shrugs. “But that would be wrong.”

“It would.” They’re quiet for a few more minutes until Steve huffs.

“Well, we could neck a little,” he suggests. Bucky turns to him, smirking.

“You want to see who gets farther on their date?”

Steve sets his sketchpad aside and draws Bucky in. “Hey, you got a sure thing in your lap, you don’t waste it.”

“I’m not in your lap just yet,” Bucky murmurs against his lips.

“Mm, well, what’re you waiting for?”

“So pushy.”

They neck lazily, taking care not to get too riled up because that would be embarrassing, and after a few minutes Steve laughs and says, “I really _am_ gonna need a glass of water.”

“We probably could’ve gone out,” Bucky says. “Grant’s so nervous he’s probably not even gonna work up the nerve to hold her hand.”

“Maybe next time we could go on a double date.” Steve manages to keep a straight face for about ten seconds before he starts giggling. There’s no other way to describe his laugh. Bucky flicks his hip, laughing.

“Yeah, what kid doesn’t want his parents on a double date?”

“Hey, we’re cool parents,” Steve protests.

“Sure, ours were, too, but we weren’t lining up to go out with ‘em.”

Steve snorts. “Can you _imagine_?”

“You mighta made it through high school with your virtue intact.”

Steve barks out a laugh at that, and then they’re both laughing so hard they’re gasping and snorting, the silly kind of laughter that used to get them in trouble when they were kids, the kind where they almost get it under control but then look at each other and lose it again.

They stop short when there’s a knock on their bedroom door, and they look at each other guiltily. Maybe they were being too loud and interrupting the movie.

“Grant?” Bucky asks. The door opens and Grant stands there, shifting awkwardly.

“Kayden thinks I’m going to the bathroom,” he whispers. “After I go back out, can you guys come out and watch the movie with us?”

“Why?” Steve asks. “You don’t want your parents crashing your date.”

“I don’t have anything to _say_ ,” Grant agonizes. “We picked a movie we’ve both already seen so we could talk but it’s _so bad_ right now.” He looks miserable and Steve and Bucky are both powerless against that. “Please?” He tacks on, the final nail.

“Yeah, we’ll come out,” Bucky promises. “We’ll wait five minutes and pretend we’re just overprotective.”

“Pretend?” Grant mutters, but then he smiles gratefully before turning to leave. “Thank you.”

Steve reaches out and tries to get Bucky’s hair to lie flat in the back where Steve’d been running his fingers through it. They wait around for a few minutes, not wanting to seem too obvious, and then Bucky tips his head toward the door and Steve nods.

“Hey, whatcha watching?” Bucky asks nonchalantly as he and Steve sit down on the loveseat. It’s not completely large enough for how big they are, but neither of them mind being wedged together.

“ _The Captain_ ,” Grant says, looking a little strained. Steve has to fight hard to stop himself from making a face. It’s one of the many movies about his life. Jarvis must have pulled it up from the internet somewhere, because they certainly don’t own it. He has no idea when Grant would’ve seen it, unless—and he’s mortified to even think it—he watched it in school.

“It’s my favorite movie,” Kayden breathes reverently.

“Oh, boy,” Bucky whispers very, very quietly, so quiet only Steve can hear. Louder, he asks, “Have I left for war yet?”

Kayden’s eyes dart over to him and then back to Steve. “Five minutes ago.”

“Now it’s just the boring stuff until Peggy shows up,” Steve jokes. The movie spends a good twenty minutes on Steve wrestling with his decision to leave Brooklyn and leave his mother’s prized possessions behind. In reality, his mother had no prized possessions for Steve to fret about leaving. Steve’s seen this movie once—they usually invite him to the premieres of these—and that was quite enough for him. Even though it was made after Steve and Bucky were both found alive and came out, the movie still ignores their relationship. The only good thing about it is that it’s one of the few that get Peggy right instead of making her a bit part in Steve’s life.

“This is the best part,” Kayden disagrees, twisting a lock of hair around her finger.

The rest of the night goes similarly. It’s very obvious Kayden isn’t exactly there for Grant. Steve’s eyes get narrower and narrower as the night wears on, and Bucky’s outright glaring within five minutes. Grant sits as far away from Kayden as he can get while staying on the couch, and he watches the screen listlessly, his head resting on one hand.

It’s not the first time someone’s befriended Grant just to get an inside-ticket to the Avengers, but this is different, because Grant really liked Kayden and this was supposed to be his first real date. Bucky decides, to himself, as they watch on-screen Peggy challenge the Commandos to a drinking contest (she loses in the movie, but in reality she beat Morita and Dernier), this shouldn’t count as a date. Grant gets a do-over.

Steve gets continuously more fidgety as Bucky’s fall gets closer, and when the actors playing them land on the top of the train, he actually gets up and leaves for the kitchen. Grant gives Bucky a look and Bucky holds up a hand, rising to join Steve.

“The acting that bad?” Bucky teases. Steve shakes his head and rests against the counter.

“I don’t like watching that, even with the bad acting.”  
  
“I know, pal.” Bucky sighs a little and lets his shoulder overlap with Steve’s. “This is not a good first date.”

“This is worse than _my_ first date.”

“Excuse you,” Bucky scolds. “Technically I was your first date.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “You can’t retroactively decide everything we did was a date.”

“I can decide whatever I want; I had a very traumatic life.”

Steve snorts and knocks his shoulder into Bucky’s. Bucky nudges him back. They go back to movie just in time to see Peggy crying over Steve putting the plane down. Steve sighs a little and looks away from the screen. It doesn’t bother him so much to watch the actor playing him crash into the ice, but seeing even this screen version of Peggy in pain isn’t fun for him.

“Is it true Agent Carter lived to be almost a hundred?” Kayden asks.

“Yeah,” Steve says with a smile. “Ninety-eight and a half.”

“And she was a knockout to the day she died,” Bucky adds, grinning.

“And she could still knock HYDRA agents out to the day she died, too.” Steve laughs, tinged just a little with sadness. It’s been over a decade since Peggy died, but he still misses her.

“Too bad you couldn’t marry her like you wanted,” Kayden sighs. The room gets incredibly awkward after that. Steve can feel little trembles going through Bucky as he holds in his laughter. Steve can’t even glare at him because it’ll set them both off laughing.

It’s not like she’s wrong—Steve _did_ want to marry Peggy—but it’s such an oversimplification of the whole situation and an incredibly strange thing to say with Bucky and Grant sitting right there. Clearly Kayden grew up with Steve and Peggy being her fairy-tale love story, which Steve thinks is nice in theory but a little strange considering how it ended.

“I mean, _I’m_ a little glad he didn’t get to,” Grant points out dryly, and Bucky loses it, snorting into his fist and trying to cover it up with a cough.

Finally, the movie ends and Grant escorts Kayden back downstairs so her mom can pick her up. As he closes the front door behind them, he rolls his eyes at Steve and Bucky. Bucky blows out a breath once the door’s closed.

“Well, this is going to take some damage control.”

Grant flops down face-first into the couch when he gets back. “That was horrible.”

“Yeah, that really sucks, kid,” Bucky commiserates.

“You’re better off without her,” Steve says definitively.

“We all are.” Bucky makes a face. “If I had to watch her puppy dog eyes on Steve for one more second I was gonna ralph.”

“How many guys have to worry about a girl liking their _dad_ more than them?” Grant moans. Bucky barks out a laugh, then looks apologetic.

“Sorry he’s so devastatingly handsome.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “It’s just because I’m famous.”

“I mean, I know a lot of girls at my school have crushes on you guys, but I didn’t realize I’d be competing for dates.”

“How many girls is a lot?” Steve asks, horrified.

“We’re not competing,” Bucky points out. “’Sides, I’m pretty sure I can take any of those girls who want Steve.”

The front door opens and Will walks in. He stopped knocking years ago. He shoves Grant’s legs aside and drops down onto the couch beside him. Grant doesn’t even lift his head.

“She liked my dad more than me,” he says pitifully. Will scrunches his face sympathetically.

“I was afraid of that. She has his picture in her locker.”

Grant kicks at Will’s leg. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He demands.

“Uh, lots of girls have your dad’s picture in their locker?”

Bucky almost falls off the couch laughing at the look on Steve’s face. Will raises an eyebrow at him. “Lots of them have your picture, too, you know.”

Bucky smirks. “Yeah, of course they do.” He’s all bravado. Steve knows he’s still bowled over by people thinking he’s a hero. Grant groans loudly and throws an arm over his face and everyone remembers his misery. Steve and Bucky both look incredibly guilty.

“Sorry, kid,” Bucky says. “I know you really liked her.”

“I wasn’t in love with her or anything, but I just thought she might like me.” Grant’s voice starts strong and fades out as his sentence goes on and suddenly the situation is much less funny.

“There will be plenty of girls who like you,” Bucky assures him. Steve winces a little. He knows firsthand that those kind of assurances aren’t actually all that helpful in the moment.

“It’s okay to be disappointed,” Steve tells him. “You want to get milkshakes? Go to the shooting range? Spar? Go for a run?” He’s exhausted his list of cheer-up activities that don’t include Bucky.

“You could go find Lily,” Bucky suggests. Thor and Jane live in the Tower when they’re not on Asgard, and Lily adores Grant. The feeling's mutual.

“We can go to the animal shelter tomorrow and look at the puppies.” Will raises his eyebrows encouragingly. That’s an activity Grant’s never grown out of.

Grant blows out a breath. “I’m fine,” he insists. “But maybe we could get milkshakes.”

They know he just needs time, but it’s hard to see him sad without being able to fix it. There have been very few things in his life so far that Steve and Bucky haven’t been able to fix, but a milkshake’s about the most they can do.

And if Grant and Will disappear for a few hours with Natasha and Clint and then Steve and Bucky hear a little rumor about Kayden’s house getting toilet papered, well. They’re not going to ask too many questions.


	16. Grant Barnes-Rogers' Day Off

Bruce is out for a walk in the middle of the afternoon, stretching his legs and contemplating falafel or a hot dog, when he sees a familiar teenage body to his left. He pauses and waits for Grant to see him there, waits until they make eye contact, before stepping closer.

“Grant?” Bruce asks as Grant winces. “I haven't been in school for a long time, but I'm pretty sure one o'clock on a Wednesday still counts as school hours.”

“Um.” Grant pushes a hand through his hair awkwardly, looking so much like Bucky as he does so Bruce almost smiles. “Yeah. Yeah, I'm skipping.” He dives headfirst into the explanation the same way Steve would.

“Why?” Bruce knows Grant is a good student, and he's only heard a few token teenage complaints about school being too early; Grant seems to enjoy school well enough. And he's certainly not the type for teenage rebellion. At sixteen, he still steadfastly enjoys Saturday evening dinner and movie nights with his parents and the rest of the Avengers team.

Grant takes a deep breath. “There's a mutant rights rally,” he explains. “And—it just seemed more important than school.”

Bruce notices, suddenly, that the group Grant had been standing with includes Will and a girl with wings sprouting from her shoulder blades. Bruce nods. Will gives him a sheepish wave and Bruce waves back. Sometimes Will still comes down to the labs to help him with projects he’s doing. Will’s a good kid, and Bruce certainly doesn’t agree with the mounting political and social stigma against mutants.

“Are you going to tell my dads?” Grant blurts.

“This is an awkward position for me, Grant,” Bruce points out. “I don't really feel comfortable lying to your parents. Especially if Steve gives me those puppy eyes.”

“It wouldn't be _lying_ ,” Grant wheedles.

“I think you should tell them,” Bruce says.

“They'll be so _mad_ ,” Grant groans.

“I think you might be surprised.” Bruce doesn't think Steve and Bucky will be disappointed to find their son is a budding activist.

“Oh, they won't be mad I came here.” Grant waves a hand around at the park and the mutants streaming in. “Dad talks about how awful mutants are treated all the time and gets mad as hell about it. But they'll be pissed I skipped school.”

“You know why they get upset when you're not where you should be, don't you?” Bruce asks mildly. “They worry.”

“They treat me like a little kid,” Grant sulks, still young enough not to realize how contradictory his tone is to his message. Bruce has to hide a smile.

“They spent a long time worried you'd be taken from them,” Bruce reminds him. Grant huffs a little.

“But that was, like, forever ago.” He plants his hands on his hips, a stance that hasn't changed in the thirteen years Bruce has known him. “HYDRA's long gone.”

“Your dad thought he took out HYDRA once before. And instead...”

“Instead they had Papa.” Grant has the sense to look a little abashed. “I know. But if I told them I was coming they would've tried to be sneaky and protect me.”

Bruce laughs a little. “Well, Bucky can be quite sneaky.”

“Sure, but Dad would be terrible at a rally.” Grant rolls his eyes. “He'd probably end up in a fight with someone.”

“Only someone who deserved it, of course.” Bruce chuckles. “He's gotten much better at controlling his righteous indignation.”

Grant smiles a little. “Alright,” he acquiesces. “I'll tell 'em. Sorry I tried to get you to lie.”

“It wouldn't be _lying_ ,” Bruce echoes Grant's earlier words and Grant shakes his head, laughing.

Bruce buys a falafel and makes his way back to the Tower. It's best if he doesn't linger around places with protests and rallies and emotions running high.

 

As soon as Grant opens the front door, he can tell he's in trouble. Steve and Bucky are both hovering in the kitchen, Bucky sitting ramrod-straight in a chair and Steve up and pacing, and Grant can see the nervous way Steve's twisting his hands. Bucky takes a deep breath and puts a hand over his eyes when he sees Grant.

“You want to tell me where you were this afternoon?” Steve says, not pacing anymore and instead putting his hands on his hips. “I got a call from the school asking if you were excused from your third and fourth period classes.”

“You have a midterm coming up in history,” Bucky scolds, his voice a little more breathless than usual. Grant has history fourth period. “Wasn't today your review day?”

“It's World War II history.” Grant can't completely suppress an eye-roll, the same reaction he has in class when every mention of Captain America makes everyone’s heads swivel to look at him. “Half the test is about you guys and the Commandos because Mr. Iglesias has a big crush on Dad.”

“Grant, where were you?” Steve asks point-blank.

“I went to a mutant rights rally. Will really wanted to go and I wanted to show him I’m on his side.” Grant brings his chin up defiantly and watches as his parents have a silent conversation in front of him. Grant knows them well enough to know what it's about; they're mad he skipped school, but they don't feel like they can punish him for where he was, since they approve of the protest.

Bucky shakes his head a little. “Your fault.” He points at Steve. “That is you, through and through.”

“Well, actually, you're the one who brought it up at breakfast yesterday,” Grant points out. Normally, this would incite laughter and a fake-argument from both of his fathers, but today he gets grim faces.

“Why didn't you just tell us?” Steve asks. “I would've excused you for that.”

Maybe if Grant wasn't in the throes of puberty, he'd appreciate the fact that his father just offered to excuse him from school to go to a protest. Instead, he bristles against the notion that he needs to be babysat.

“If I told you, you would've tried to come with me.” Grant tries to keep his voice level.

“What's wrong with that?” Bucky shoots out. Grant's toeing a shaky line here, because he just made it sound like he didn't want Steve with him, and that's something Bucky won't tolerate.

“I'm _sixteen_.” Grant throws his hands up, exasperated. “I don't need you guys hovering over me all the time. I know how to spar, you know. _You_ guys taught me.”

“It’s not that we don’t trust you or don’t think you’re capable,” Steve starts.

“I can handle myself,” Grant interrupts petulantly. “I know how to fight. And Will was there; he’d have my back.”

“We don’t _want_ you to fight,” Bucky snaps, bringing his fist down on the table and then pausing to take steadying breaths. “You shouldn’t _have_ to.”

“I can go to a public gathering without some scary HYDRA agents showing up and whisking me away.” He knows as soon as he says it the HYDRA crack was too far. Bucky's face drains of all color while Steve's goes red.

“You have no idea what HYDRA is capable of,” Bucky says, voice suddenly hoarse. Grant feels shame swoop hot through his belly. He doesn't know everything that happened to Bucky while HYDRA had him; he knows what his history book says ( _Sergeant Barnes was tortured and brainwashed for seventy years until he no longer knew who he was or who his captors were_ , and instead of everyone looking at him during that part of the lecture everyone pointedly averts their gazes from him while he clenches his teeth), but he doesn't know what that torture and brainwashing entail beyond forgetting himself, forgetting Steve, and being made to kill people.

Grant had worked up the courage to ask, once, when he was fourteen—he'd asked Steve, because he at least had the sense not to ask Bucky, and Steve's face had gone stony and dark and he'd said quietly that someday, when Grant was older, he could ask Bucky if he could read the file, but not to hold his breath because it wasn't something either of his fathers wanted him to have in his head. He knows most of the information is on the internet, but he’s never felt comfortable looking at it when he knows neither of his parents would want him to. And, honestly, he’s afraid of what he’ll learn.

All Grant knows is that even after a decade and a half of freedom, Bucky still has bad days where he disappears; he knows Bucky still has nightmares at least a few times a week, because he can hear the tossing and turning and, eventually, the footsteps in the living room; knows that talking about HYDRA still gives Bucky a haunted, wild look that makes Grant's stomach hurt and makes Steve clench his jaw so tight it creaks audibly.

“Sorry,” Grant murmurs, staring at his feet. “I'm really sorry I said that.”

“HYDRA tried to take you from us once.” Steve's voice is a little shaky, but his hand squeezing Bucky's shoulder is steady.

“I know.” Grant still hasn't looked up from his shoes, wishing he could go back in time and stuff those words back in his mouth.

“You can't just disappear on us,” Bucky says softly. “We gotta know where you are. We were—Grant, we were so worried today. I can't...” Bucky cuts off, licks his lips, and Grant, to his horror, can hear tears in his father’s voice.

“I'm sorry,” Grant whispers, his own voice thick.

“Just tell us next time,” Steve commands gently. “If there's something more important to you than school, tell us. We'll work it out, okay?”

Grant nods quickly, swiping a sleeve across his nose. Bucky opens his hand and wiggles his fingers at Grant, motioning him over, and Grant practically throws himself against his fathers, the way he used to when he was just a little boy. Bucky cradles Grant's head and Steve rubs a hand up and down his back.

“I'm sorry, Papa,” Grant chokes out. Bucky's hand tightens a little against his neck.

“It's alright,” Steve soothes. “You're alright.”

Bucky presses his lips to Grant's temple and squeezes the back of his neck one last time before releasing him. “Go on,” Bucky urges. “Go do your homework.”

Grant slips down the hall meekly, still sniffling a little. He knows his parents well enough to know that they're most likely kissing now, because that's the best way they've found to ground them both back in the present. Grant hopes it wasn't a big enough scare to keep Bucky quiet and withdrawn the rest of the day and make Steve flit fretfully around, unable to settle and focus on one thing.

When he emerges for dinner, things seem alright, and Bucky fixes Steve with a big smirk and says, “Didn't I tell you that history teacher was gawping at you at parent teacher conferences?”

Steve rolls his eyes and sniffs haughtily. “Well, maybe I'll leave you for him. He is younger, you know.” Mr. Iglesia is in his late fifties. Bucky snorts.

“Good luck breaking in a new guy,” he says, waggling his eyebrows. “I already know what you like.”

“Hello? I'm still in the room?” Grant complains. They do this _all_ the time, and grope at each other all the time too, _even_ when he has friends over. Will’s mostly immune to it by now, but a few weeks ago Grant brought a friend over and they’d opened the front door to find Steve and Bucky full-on making out on the couch. They’d scrambled apart like teenagers when they realized they had an audience, but Steve had been in sweats and wasn’t fooling anyone. Grant’s friend Elijah hadn’t been able to look either of them in the eye since. Grant has come into the kitchen for breakfast to catch an eyeful of Steve or Bucky copping a feel more times than he could ever count. It’s horrifyingly disgusting to think about his parents that way, but it’s also sort of oddly comforting—he knows that even after literally a hundred years, they can’t keep their hands off each other.

“Yeah, kid, I was still in the room when I caught you with your tongue down Amanda Li’s throat a few weeks ago,” Bucky reminds him. Grant goes scarlet, the pale skin and furious blush a combination he inherited from Steve, who is rudely laughing so hard he almost chokes on a piece of chicken and Bucky has to thump him on the back and almost chokes, too, because he’s laughing at Steve choking. Grant glares at both of them, turning even redder as he remembers the way they’d decided he needed a recap of their discussion about safe sex he’d first gotten at thirteen.

 _You in trouble?_ Will texts him later, when Grant is done with his homework and is down in the basement for Avengers Bowling Night.

 _Nah. Best way to get out of trouble is to be a horrible person and make your own dad cry_ , Grant responds, glancing over at where Bucky, Steve, and Thor are showing off by playing catch with the heaviest bowling ball in the room.

_?????? Which one????_

_Bucky. I was stupid and said something about HYDRA._ Grant shakes his head just thinking about the stricken look on both his parents’ faces.

 _Well if it makes you feel better I’m grounded for a week_ , Will reports.

_I’d rather be grounded._

_Yeah you made a national hero cry good job._

_Fuck you, I feel bad enough_ , Grant shoots back. Will sends him three entire lines of frowning emojis and broken hearts. Grant rolls his eyes. Will’s use of emojis is ironic, or something, because no one uses emojis anymore when they could attach a hologram to their text.

“Grant, it’s your turn!” Steve calls.

“G-man’s got nothing!” Sam taunts. “Gutter, gutter, gutter!”

“You’re just jealous he’s not on your team,” Bucky protests. “You’re stuck with Tony.”

“Fuck you, cyborg,” Tony says casually.

“You’re all terrible compared to me,” Natasha points out. Clint snorts so hard it sounds painful. To everyone’s delight, Natasha is terrible at bowling. She seems to be effortlessly perfect at everything else, but something about bowling evades her. Or she’s been conning them all for over a decade. No one’s completely sure.

Grant wonders sometimes what it would be like to have the kind of family he sees on TV—everyone in the family actually being related by blood, living in a split-level house in the suburbs, where bowling night would include going out to a bowling alley instead of riding the AI-controlled elevator to the basement, without the threat of an alien invasion or giant squids attacking and making everyone spring into action, where skipping school would mean a lecture about his future and not make his fathers’ hands shake with fear.

He actually does get a gutter ball, and then Sam looks guilty. Grant’s distracted. He keeps looking at Steve and Bucky and thinking about how terrible he made them feel. Bucky’s slightly paler than usual, and Steve keeps catching Bucky’s hand and squeezing it, and Grant knows that’s his fault, knows that he’s the reason Bucky’s got worst-case scenarios running through his mind and the reason Steve needs to touch Bucky to convince them both he’s real. He feels sick with it.

Once they’re done bowling and back upstairs in their apartment, Steve gives Grant a look. “We’re fine, Grant,” he says gently. “You don’t need to beat yourself up. We probably _are_ a bit too paranoid.”

Grant feels his throat getting tight again. “I didn’t mean to scare you guys.”

“We know, kid.” Bucky slings one arm around Grant’s shoulders and the other around Steve and gives them both a squeeze. “But it’s over now. Let’s try not to dwell.” Steve lets his hand linger on Bucky’s back after Bucky releases Grant and Grant feels suffocated by it all.

“Ground me!” He blurts. He doesn’t know much about “normal” families, but he knows from Will and his other friends and TV shows that most kids who mess up get grounded. “I should get in trouble for skipping school, right?”

Bucky shrugs and Steve makes a face. “You’re not going to do it again without talking to us about it, right? What’s grounding you going to do?”

“You gotta give me _some_ punishment,” Grant protests.

Bucky gives Grant a calculating look. “It’s not skipping school you think you should be punished for,” he points out. Grant looks away because it’s true and he knows Bucky knows that. “And you already feel bad enough about the other part.”

Grant blinks hard and bites his lip. “I feel like shit.”

“Yeah. So what, you think we’re gonna take away your phone, not let you see your friends, so you can stew in that?” Bucky gives him a look. “We’ve all been through enough therapy to know _that_ wouldn’t be a good idea.”

Grant has to laugh a little at that, because it’s true; with the three of them combined, they’ve probably spent an entire lifetime talking to therapists. Bucky alone has put his therapist’s oldest kid through college. Grant doesn’t see Dr. Jones anymore, hasn’t since he was six, but he still sees her when they visit with the Howling Commandos families and they still exchange birthday cards.

“I just wish I hadn’t ruined your whole day,” Grant mumbles.

“Ah, kid,” Bucky sighs. “You couldn’t ruin a thing for us even if you tried.”

“We kinda like having you around,” Steve adds, giving him a lopsided little smile. Grant swallows hard.

“I won’t do it again,” he promises firmly.

“We know you won’t.” Steve draws him in for another hug and Bucky kisses his hair.

“Try not to worry about it too much,” Bucky adds. “We’re doing better with staying present and all that.”

“Oh, by the way—watch your language,” Steve scolds half-heartedly. Grant makes a face. Steve has one of the filthiest mouths of anyone Grant’s ever met, second only to Bucky and possibly Tony. Bucky laughs out loud.

“Least around your teachers and other people’s parents, okay? Don’t make us look bad.”

As Grant goes down the hall to his room, he hears Steve ask, “What do you even do when you ground your kid?”

“How should I know?” Bucky shoots back. “Shit, I wish my parents had tried grounding. Woulda saved my ass a lot of paddling.”

Grant shuts the door before Steve’s inevitable crack about Bucky’s ass, but he’s smiling a little. Their family’s probably not going to be on TV anytime soon, and they may not be normal, but Grant thinks they’re doing just fine.


	17. Blame it on the alcohol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took sooooo long to finish. It just didn't want to cooperate with me.

Steve and Bucky have a shared phone line. It’s something Tony came up with; two separate cell phones and numbers, but with a special number to connect them. He said people used to have home lines, where you could install multiple phones in the house and everyone could talk to the same person, so he made it possible in the more modern cell phone age, too.

Pretty much the only person who uses the shared line is Grant. He calls the shared line when he’s done with baseball practice, when he’s going out with friends, when he’s driving the car Tony bought him and is lost, whatever. He’s not picky about who picks up; he just needs either or both of them. It’s also helpful the few times Steve and Bucky are on different missions, so they can have a whole family chat in three different places. The Barnes cousins who live in Manhattan for college use it sometimes, too, when they want to come by and do their laundry or need someone imposing to come threaten a pushy boyfriend.

Bucky’s phone is playing the special ringtone that means it’s the shared line, and he vaults over the coffee table to lunge for his phone. Maybe it’s a bit childish, but he and Steve have a longstanding race to answer it. Bucky’s pretty sure he’s ahead, and Steve’s very competitive. But Steve’s down in the gym with the Young Avengers, like he’s some kind of camp counselor or something, so Bucky’s pretty sure he’s going to win again.

It’s Grant, unsurprisingly, so Bucky answers with a cheekily drawled, “Bucky Barnes, fastest draw in the world.”

“Papaaaaaa,” Grant draws the word out and Bucky laughs, giving his phone a weird look. The last time Grant did that he was probably about five and was bawling his eyes out.

“What’s up?” Bucky asks. Grant’s out with friends, though Bucky’s not sure where; wherever it is, it’s _loud_. They can’t have gone clubbing or anything, because they’re all seventeen and wouldn’t get in. Bucky’s pretty sure his kid doesn’t have a fake I.D. He’d _better_ not have a fake I.D., unless he’s using it to vote like the kid in that movie about detention Tony made them watch. Hell, he’s Steve’s kid; of course that’d be why he got a fake I.D.

“Papa, I need—can you…” Grant curses and everything gets muffled, like he dropped his phone. A few things happen at once; first, Steve picks up his phone, so there’s the added sound of Kate cheering America on in whatever contest they’re currently having, and second, Bucky realizes Grant’s slurring all his words.

“Shit, are you drunk?” Bucky blurts.

“Uh, no?” Steve responds confusedly. “Obviously not?”

“Not you, the kid.”

“What?” Steve’s voice sounds like his eyes are probably bugging out.

“Daddy, please don’t be mad at me,” Grant begs, and the answer is abundantly clear—if nothing else, by the use of the word _daddy_ , which Grant gave up at age eight when he decided he was too old for that. “I don’t wanna be here anymore but I can’t drive.”

“Where are you?” Bucky demands. He can hear Steve muttering curses in his ear.  
  
“I gotta go,” Steve calls out to the kids. There are a few good-natured protests Bucky can’t completely make out, but they cut off abruptly, like Steve probably sprinted straight out of the room and closed the door on them. Bucky rolls his eyes a little. Steve needs to work on his de-escalation tactics. Now he’s freaked everyone out.

“I’m, uh. It’s a party. Joey Anderson’s house.” Bucky’s never heard of any Joey Anderson.

“Do you know the address?” Bucky asks, all exaggerated patience.

“Uhhhh…” Grant’s all but useless at the moment.

“Is Will with you?” Steve asks.

“ _Daddy_ , come _on_ , Will can’t drink. He might accidentally light everyone on _fire_! He wouldn’t mean to, but he—”

“Okay, so he didn’t go to the party with you?” Bucky interrupts. They’ll be here all night if they let Grant explain things they already know.

“Joey Anderson’s a fucking asshole,” Grant yells, like he’s directing his words toward the room at large. “That’s why I gotta get outta here. ‘parently he hates mutants.”

“Shit,” Bucky mutters. “Grant, please do not get in a fight right now.”

“I already did! Kicked his prejudiced fuckwad ass.” Grant says this triumphantly. Bucky feels incredibly exasperated. Hasn’t he already done his turn of cleaning up after small blondes who fight too much? Steve comes in the front door then and Bucky glares at him for good measure. Steve rolls his eyes and grabs the car keys.

“Grant, we don’t know the address where you are,” Steve explains. “We can’t pick you up if we don’t know where you are.”

“There are trees around the house,” Grant offers.

“Oh, well, that’s very helpful,” Bucky can’t help but snap.

“Okay,” Grant says cheerfully. “See you soon.”

“Do not hang up!” Steve yells. It’s too late.

“Well, what do we do now?” Bucky asks.

“I don’t know,” Steve sighs. “Run the GPS on his phone and hope he didn’t turn it off.”

“I’m sure Tony’s got GPS on the car,” Bucky muses. They realize they’re still on the phone at the same time and hang up. Grant’s phone is, of course, turned off or dead, so they have to go dig Tony out of a three-day engineering bender since Pepper’s been in Vienna at a conference. Truth be told, Bucky’s starting to panic a little. Their seventeen-year-old is currently drunk and surrounded by people who clearly don’t like him. He has, if he’s to be believed, already beat up the host of the party, and that doesn’t seem promising.

“It’s a design flaw,” Tony bursts out when the doors open.

“Tony, we need help,” Steve says quickly. Tony looks up and blinks a few times.

“How long have you been here?”

“An hour,” Bucky lies. Tony blinks a few more times.

“No…”

“We just got here,” Steve promises. “But we need you to track Grant’s car.”

Tony rubs his eyes. “What? Did he rob a bank?”

“Apparently he got drunk and beat up the kid whose house the party is at,” Bucky explains, irritated. Tony barks out a laugh but stops abruptly when he sees how unamused Steve and Bucky are.

“Right. Underage drinking. Wrong.” It only takes him a few minutes before he hands over the address. As they’re leaving, Bucky tosses over his shoulder,

“Take a goddamn shower and go to sleep.”

“It’s Friday,” Steve adds.

“It’s _Friday_?” Tony echoes incredulously as the doors slide closed.

“What are we going to do?” Bucky asks as they drive out to the kid’s house. “Is this when you ground a kid?”

“I guess? What friends is he even with? I don’t know why he’d go to a party without Will at all.”

“Maybe Will had a date,” Bucky theorizes. Usually Will and Grant double date, but they don’t spend _every_ waking minute together.

“I just don’t think this would happen if he’d been with Will,” Steve mutters disapprovingly, and kind of nonsensically, actually, considering Grant definitely was with Will the time they got caught illegally setting off fireworks in the school parking lot. Will was the one lighting them. Literally.

It’s pretty easy to know they found the right house. There’s music so loud they can hear it in the car and a few kids making out in the front yard, even though it’s only March and barely fifty degrees.

“Hey, go home!” Bucky barks at them, and the sight of an adult sends them scrambling.

Steve pushes the front door open and they both immediately grimace. The music is outrageously loud, and they have enhanced hearing. It’s almost a physical assault. There are a lot of kids there, and Bucky feels his mouth starting to go dry in the way that means he’s freaking out a little. Too loud, too crowded, too dimly lit—his body’s feeling pretty distressed. Steve must notice, because he reaches out and wraps his hand around Bucky’s elbow, steadying him, and Bucky takes a deep breath. He kind of wishes he didn’t. Cologne is heavy in the air.

“Grant?” Bucky calls. Wide-eyed teenagers start hurrying out of the house as they see Steve and Bucky.

“Don’t drive!” Steve yells at their retreating backs. “I’ll pay for your cab if I have to!”

They round a corner and find Grant. He’s slouched against the wall, bare-chested, his balled-up shirt pressed against his swollen, bleeding face. He stands up straight when he sees them, head hanging. They don’t even say anything to him, just follow him back out through the crush of grinding teenagers to the front door.

“Should we call the cops?” Steve asks.

“I think we pretty much broke up the party anyway,” Bucky says. It’s true—kids are leaving in big groups.

“There were way more people here before the fight,” Grant tells them, voice muffled. Steve and Bucky both shoot him glares and he shuts up, sliding into the backseat of the car. Bucky pushes his hands and shirt out of the way to get a look at his face, to make sure nothing’s broken or needs stitches, and winces at the bloody mess of both Grant’s face and his knuckles. It all looks fine, relatively speaking. At least they won’t be ending this night with a trip to the emergency room.

“Should I drive his car back now?” Steve asks.

“Nope. He can run here tomorrow and drive it back himself.”

“That’s kinda cruel,” Steve says, but he laughs and gets in the car. They wait until they get out of Joey Anderson’s neighborhood before speaking.

“So, you gonna tell us what exactly is going on?” Bucky asks.

“Joey started saying shit!” Grant explodes. Steve gives Bucky a look. They’ve heard Grant swear, but his mouth tonight has been a lot dirtier than either of them have heard. It’s mostly Bucky’s fault. Steve has way more practice curbing his bad language when he needs to thanks to the USO tour and his image as the do-gooder Avenger to uphold.

“And you thought you’d shut him up with your face?” Steve guesses.

“Uh, no. I kicked his ass.”

“Should see the other guy, huh?” Bucky mutters sarcastically. “What were you doing at this party anyway? And how much did you drink?”

“I don’t know,” Grant mumbles, hunching his shoulders. “Like. A lot?”

“You go to these kinda parties a lot?” Steve asks.

“This was the first time,” Grant admits. “Everyone thinks I’m a goody two-shoes.”

“And the problem with that is…?”

Grant shrugs. “Just got sick of all the shit they say all the time. Came to the party to show ‘em I’m not a lightweight.”

“You’ve never even had a whole beer before tonight, have you?” Sometimes they let him have wine or a drink of their beers, but it’s not like it’s a regular thing. He’s had champagne maybe twice in his life at Tony’s parties.

“No.” Grant looks miserable and, truth be told, it’s wearing down Bucky’s anger a little. “I _am_ a lightweight.”

“Well, you only weigh a hundred and twenty pounds,” Steve points out. “You’re actually pretty literally a lightweight.”

“Featherweight, technically,” Bucky adds with a little snort.

“Oh, so you think I should’ve just let him say Will’s a freak?” Grant bites out angrily. It’s not completely on topic at the current point of the conversation, but no one accused drunks of being logical. “He said we should kill all the mutants!”

Steve sighs and Bucky runs a hand down his face. It’s not like they can tell him he was wrong. Steve used to get in fights for far less, and it’s actually pretty similar to the kinds of things Bucky used to punch people for saying about Steve. His health problems weren’t exactly appreciated, and people thought asthma was just Steve being a drama queen.

“ _And_ he called Will a faggot.”

The word hangs heavy in the car while Steve and Bucky grapple with what to say. Bucky first thinks _is he?_ and then shakes his head at himself. He’s heard that slur used about him and Steve more than once, but mostly on the internet where the speaker didn’t have to worry about getting an enhanced fist to the jaw. Back when Steve was small, people were more likely to call him a fairy or a queer.

“And I got pissed about that,” Grant continues. “And then fucking Sammy’s all like _Joey, Barnes-Rogers is hyphenated ‘cause he’s got faggot dads so don’t say faggot_ and Joey wouldn’t shut up and kept saying he was going to kill Will.”

The story’s not the easiest to follow, partially because they have no idea who these kids are and partially because it’s a little hard to understand everything Grant’s saying when he’s all mush-mouthed.

“Maybe we should talk about this in the morning,” Steve suggests. Grant will be hung-over, but at least he’ll be more coherent. They want the whole picture, and it definitely doesn’t seem like they’re getting it in his current state.

“And not that it really matters, but Will’s not even gay.” Grant peels his shirt away from his face. His nose has stopped bleeding. “We checked.”

“You check—”

“Uh, what does—”

“I’m not either. I thought maybe I would be, ‘cause of you. I know it’s not, like, heremi—herdi—genetic. But we just wanted to make sure. So we were gonna give each other hand jobs or maybe—”

“Stop talking!” Bucky yelps.

“ _God_.” Steve shudders, glancing back at their son. He never, ever wanted to think about his son’s sex life. And he knows it’s hypocritical, since he and Bucky were already fooling around when they were fifteen, but he can’t help but think seventeen’s a bit young to be doing…well, _anything_. It certainly seems a lot younger from this side of it.

“But even _kissing_ was gross, so we couldn’t go through with it. And we tried jerking off next to each other but neither of us could do it.” Grant’s voice turns thoughtful. “Although, I mean, just because I didn’t want to have sex with Will doesn’t mean I’d _never_ want to be with a guy, I guess. Dicks don’t do it for me. No offense. But I guess if there comes a day—”

“ _Grant_ ,” Steve interrupts, reaching back to actually put his hand over Grant’s mouth. “You are going to be incredibly embarrassed about telling us this tomorrow.”

“He’s not gonna remember telling us,” Bucky points out as he turns into the Tower’s parking garage. “Unfortunately, _I_ will be haunted by this conversation until the day I die.”

“Seriously,” Steve agrees. “I did not need to hear my child say _hand job_ or _jerking off_.” Grant rolls his eyes and makes a sound of protest, but Steve’s still covering his mouth. Steve shakes his head. “You don’t get to talk until I know you’re not going to scar us again.”

Grant pushes Steve’s hand away. “I’m not a child!”

“Uh, okay,” Bucky says sarcastically. “Says the guy who got drunk off his ass, got in a fight, and called his parents to come pick him up.”

“Bucky,” Steve warns. “You’re getting kind of—”

“What I’m _getting kind of_ is tired of dusting off your asses after fights,” Bucky snaps. “Jesus, what is it about being a foot shorter than everyone else that makes you think you should fight them?”

“Well, that’s just unfair,” Steve mutters, at just about the same time Grant starts groaning.

“Get out of the car!” Bucky orders frantically.

“I already threw up at the party,” Grant reveals. “Doesn’t that mean I’m done?” He answers his own question by throwing up on the floor of the garage. Steve pinches the bridge of his nose.

They manage to get up to their floor without Grant throwing up again, but he immediately rushes to the bathroom once they get home.

“We can’t even punish him until tomorrow,” Bucky points out.

“What are we going to do? Isn’t this maybe punishment enough?” Steve asks. His point is punctuated by Grant’s pained moaning.

“Steve, he can’t go around getting shit-faced with no one to watch his back. He put himself in such a vulnerable position tonight. What would’ve happened if someone had come after him, huh?”

Steve hums a little. “So it’s not really the drinking itself you’re mad about.”

Bucky puts his hands on his hips. “Do I wish we lived in a world where he didn’t have to watch his back every second of every day? Yeah, sure. But we don’t live in that world, Steve, we live in _this_ world, where there are still people out there who’d love to mess with Captain America’s kid. Plus all the people he pissed off because, here's a shocker, he was running his mouth. He can’t let his guard down like that.”

Steve rubs at his forehead. “I’m not crazy about the fact that he got drunk just to prove a point, either.”

Bucky fights back a snort. Steve Rogers, ready to lecture someone about not having to prove yourself to people? Yeah, sure. Steve narrows his eyes a little like he can guess what Bucky’s thinking and Bucky just raises an eyebrow.

“Am I gonna die?” Grant calls from the bathroom, tears in his voice.

“You’re not gonna die,” Bucky reassures him, heart softening despite himself.

“I never want to get drunk again,” Grant moans.

“I felt the same way the first time I got drunk,” Steve reminisces. Bucky can’t help a little chuckle.

“I remember. First you threw up on my shoes and then you cried for the rest of the night.”

They can hear Grant crying in the bathroom and it makes them both somehow simultaneously want to laugh and cry. Objectively, they can appreciate the humor in the situation, but it’s hard to be objective when their son is crying and puking his guts out. Even if he did bring it upon himself.

“You’re both a disgrace to the Irish blood in your veins,” Bucky mutters, rolling his eyes.

“Excuse me. I could drink an entire liquor store and not get drunk,” Steve points out.

“Stop!” Grant pleads. “Don’t talk about drinking.”

He doesn’t want to drink any water, but they make him, and he spends another hour in the bathroom, just to be safe, before they make him get up and go to bed. Steve and Bucky look at each other for a second, and the Bucky sighs.

“Flip a coin for cleaning up the mess in the garage?” He asks.

“I’ll do it,” Steve volunteers. Bucky looks surprised and Steve shrugs. “Think I probably still owe you for how many times you had to clean up after me when I was sick.”

Bucky shakes his head, smiling a little. “You know we don’t keep score, Steve.”

“Well, sure, but.” Steve shrugs again. “I’ll do it.”

Bucky shrugs back. “Alright.”

“You can check on the bathroom and make sure he didn’t miss,” Steve adds innocently. Bucky narrows his eyes.

“Owe me, my ass,” Bucky mutters as Steve laughs his way out the front door. “Stark probably already sent a fucking robot down there to do it.”

  
Grant doesn’t emerge from his room the next morning until after eleven, and even then he only comes out because Will shows up.

“You’re such a fucking asshole,” Will says as soon as sees Grant. Steve and Bucky, sitting in the kitchen and pretending to be suddenly hard of hearing so the boys will keep their conversation in the living room and not retreat to Grant’s room where they won’t be able to eavesdrop, exchange a surprised look.

“Whatever,” Grant responds, shaking his head only slightly.

“What did I tell you about Joey? I _told_ you he was like that. I told you not to go to his party and you went anyway.”

“Maybe I just went because I knew he’d start something and I could kick his ass,” Grant suggests.

“Don’t give me that shit,” Will shoots back. “You went because you wanted to go to the party. You didn’t give a fuck what _I_ told you he’s said about mutants. What, you think it’s not real unless he says it to _you_? If you hadn’t heard him say that, you would’ve been all buddy-buddy with him, even after I told you what he said.”

“Maybe sometimes I just want to have fun without worrying about the politics of it all!” Grant throws his hands up. “Shit, do I have to read every fucking label on everything I’m eating to know if it comes from mutant-friendly companies? Do I have to ask everyone I come into contact with what their stance on mutant rights is? Maybe sometimes I just want to be normal.”

“Yeah, well, you _get_ to be normal when you feel like it,” Will says quietly, standing up. “Not all of us are so lucky.” He nods to Steve and Bucky on his way out. Steve looks like he’s ten seconds away from laying into Grant, too, but Bucky gives him a look.

“How’re you feeling?” Bucky asks, handing Grant a cup of coffee. They usually discourage him from drinking much coffee— _last thing we need in this house is one more person not sleeping at night_ —but drastic times call for drastic measures.

“Really great,” Grant mutters sarcastically. “Just amazing.”

“Illegal underage drinking, fighting, and giving in to peer pressure, and you think now’s a good time to break out the sass?” Steve asks with a raised eyebrow. Grant makes a face, flushing a little.

“What’s the deal, kid? This isn’t like you,” Bucky points out.

“Maybe I’m sick of everyone saying what’s like me and what’s not,” Grant grumbles. Bucky fights rolling his eyes. Is there something in the Rogers DNA that brings about a giant chip on the shoulder? Is it only a male thing? Sarah Rogers was a tough woman, but she wasn’t out picking fights. At least Steve’s desire to prove himself was justified. Steve had to prove to the entire world why he should even be alive. Who’s Grant trying to prove himself to? Some other teenage clowns?

“Just because people think things about you doesn’t mean you have to prove or disprove that,” Steve says. Bucky side-eyes him slightly and Steve narrows his eyes a little. “You think I’m being hypocritical but I’d like to remind you I woke up to quite the public image.”

“It’s not about proving myself,” Grant interrupts. “It’s not,” he insists at their skeptical looks. “I just wanted to be normal.”

“What exactly does that mean?” Steve asks. “How are you not normal?”

Grant looks incredulous. “How am I not normal? I have to worry about girls liking me just to get close to my parents. I have kids taking pictures of me in class to sell to tabloids. I live with a bunch of superheroes. My best friend can light things on fire. I have no idea if I’m actually good at sports or if I make the team because of who my family is. I can tell you eight escape routes from the city, complete with drop bags with money, clothes, and new identities!”

Bucky opens his mouth to say something and then shuts it. He rubs his eyes. He has no idea how he’s supposed to handle this.

“Yeah…you’re _not_ normal. You never could be, just because of who you are,” Steve says with a shrug. “What good does it do to wish for something else?”

Grant blows out a noisy breath. “You First Great Depression people don’t understand anything.”

“Why don’t you tell us?” Bucky suggests.

Grant closes his eyes and lets his head drop back to rest against the couch. “I get so tired of everybody staring at me all the time. And everybody sticking their noses in my business. And thinking they know my opinion on everything. People don’t even know me, but they think they do because they read about you in school or they saw you on the news or just because I have two dads, so they think they know everything I could want to say. I can’t do anything wrong, because it’ll make you guys look bad. I just feel like…I don’t even get to be a kid.”

Steve sighs and looks at Bucky. Bucky shrugs a little. He doesn’t have any idea what to do. Nothing they can do will change the situation, even if they gave up being Avengers.

“You know, that’s how I used to feel a lot, especially when I first woke up,” Steve tells Grant. “Still do feel that way, sometimes. And I’m sorry it’s putting so much pressure on you.”

“But that’s a fact of being who we are, kid,” Bucky adds. He can see Steve’s shoulders slumping, thinking this is all his fault, and he won’t stand for that. “We can’t do anything about it. There’s some responsibilities that come along with who we are. And I’m real sorry you never got to give your two cents or agree to it, but them’s the breaks. This is our life. You want to start rebelling, end up on the news, don’t you go worrying about our reputations, but just think about your own reputation. People know who you are, and they watch you, and that means what you do isn’t going to go away as easy as some of your friends.”

“It’s not fair,” Grant huffs, voice starting to get tight like he’s fighting tears.

“No, it isn’t,” Steve agrees. “But it’s the way it is. You can fight against it or you can use it to help out other people.”

Grant sniffs, blinking hard. “I don’t know how to make Will not hate me.”

“You screwed up, kid,” Bucky sighs. “But you know it, and you feel bad about it, and you’re not gonna do it again. Tell him. Apologize. Show him that was the exception, not the rule. He knows you and he knows that’s not who you are.”

“I acted like a real jackass.”

“It’s a Barnes family trait,” Steve teases. “’cept Winifred, of course, on account of she wasn’t a Barnes by blood.”

“You can quit sucking up to my ma, Stevie,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes. “She’s dead.”

“You think she’s not keeping an eye on things?” Steve snorts. “No sir, I’ll make sure to stay in her good graces forever.”

Bucky shakes his head, smiling a little, but he turns serious again when he looks at Grant. “You also broke the law and put yourself in danger.”

Grant makes a face. “I took care of Joey Anderson even though I was trashed.”

“And what if Joey Anderson got back-up? What if everyone there at the party turned against you? The problem with hanging around people who think mutants should die is they usually stick with other assholes like them. What would you do if it turned out to be five or six against one? You’re tough and you know how to fight, kid, but you’re still just one seventeen-year-old.”

“And breaking the law because you want to fit in is not a good enough reason to break the law,” Steve cuts in. “We break the law when the law is unjust and needs to be changed. Not because we want to go to a party and play beer pong.”

“You never got drunk when you were my age?” Grant asks, raising an eyebrow.

“We were _so poor_ ,” Bucky says. “We couldn’t afford to waste money on buying booze. It was all food and medicine, you know.”

“And I was very frail,” Steve adds. “Alcohol probably would’ve killed me.”

Grant hangs his head a little. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you’re sorry. And you’re grounded,” Bucky says firmly.

“Except to apologize to Will,” Steve says.

“Oh, yeah. You better do that.”

“That’s fair,” Grant admits. “I’ll go apologize to him and tell him I’m grounded and then bring you my phone.”

He disappears into his room and Steve snorts. “We couldn’t afford to get drunk?”

Bucky guffaws. “Look who’s talking, Mr. Fragile. You hated anyone thinking you were weak but you sure don’t mind playing that card when it suits you.”

Steve shrugged. “You lied first.”

“Well, I’m _better_ at it than you.”

“Oh, really? I’m sure he’s heard us talk about going to the movies or dancing, and now we were suddenly too poor to buy booze?”

They keep poking at each other, sniping teasingly, and end up wrestling around a little on the couch. Bucky fights dirty and uses Steve’s ticklish ribs to get the upper hand, but Steve fights _dirtier_ and cups Bucky’s dick through his pants. Bucky yelps.

“That ain’t fair!”

“All’s fair in love and war.”

“Which one is this?” Bucky asks, raising an eyebrow. He’s got Steve’s arms pinned up above his head and Steve arches up close to Bucky’s face, close enough that he can see Bucky’s eyes going dark and skipping down to Steve’s lips.

“War,” Steve whispers before flipping them over and off the couch. Bucky’s laughing so hard he’s almost useless to keep playing around.

“Uh, do you want my phone or…?” Grant interrupts. “I can come back later if you’re about to get it on right there.”

Steve squawks. “What is with you and talking about sex lately? What happened to my blushing thirteen-year-old who almost cried when I gave him the sex talk?”

“Are you sure you’re not thinking about yourself when you gave him the sex talk?” Bucky cracks.

“What do you mean, lately?” Grant asks. “When else have I talked about sex?”

Steve and Bucky look at each other and burst out laughing. Grant’s face is turning redder and redder by the second.

“Guys, seriously. Did I say something yesterday?”

“You just told us about some, uh.” Now Steve, for all his tough talk, is blushing, too. “Experimentation.”

“Oh, my God,” Grant groans, covering his face with his hands. Bucky can’t help his snickering, even though it’s probably wrong of him to laugh at his only child in his moment of intense mortification.

“Oh, hang on,” Bucky remembers something serious he wanted to tell Grant. He leans up, Steve still straddling his hips, his hair mussed from rolling around. “We’re proud of you for calling us and not driving when you were drunk.”

“Yes!” Steve agrees, still holding Bucky’s wrists above his head. “We’re very happy about that. We’d much rather you call us than try to get home any other way.”

“Right,” Grant mutters, still crimson and not meeting their eyes. “Um, what happened to my car?”

“It’s still at Joey Anderson’s. You gotta run over there and get it.”

“Run?” Grant asks, starting to look a little green at the thought.

“Run,” Bucky says firmly. “And think about how it feels next time someone wants you to drink too much.”

“You’re really gonna make me?” Grant puts an effort into sounding as pathetic as he possibly can, looking sad and sick. It doesn’t work on them.

They really make him, in all his hung-over misery, go for a run to get his car. But they go with him, and Grant rolls his eyes when Steve tells him it’s a metaphor for the rest of his life.


	18. Pomp and Circumstance

“Ready?” Bucky asks, straightening Steve’s tie for him.

“Ready,” Steve confirms. “Got the holo-camera, got my phone, freed up space to record on my phone, got my camera.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Wow, Steve, do you think we should record this?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “This is a big day!”

“It is,” Bucky agrees. “But I don’t know if we need _five_ recordings of it.”

“I only said three.”

“Well, obviously I have _my_ phone, and you know Sam’s going to record it, too,” Bucky points out. “Actually, you know what, we’re going to end up with a million copies because Tony will pretend he’s not recording but he will. Natasha won’t look like she is, but somehow she’ll end up with video of the whole thing.”

Steve barks out a laugh. “Well, good. We’ll have backups.”

Now it’s Bucky’s turn to roll his eyes. “Like we’d ever lose it.”

“You never know,” Steve protests as they get in the car. “The Tower could blow up.”

They bicker on the drive over to the high school, arguing without heat over the radio station and the internal temperature of the car. They park and look up at the banner strung across the front of the school. _Class of 2030 Graduation_.

Steve gives Bucky’s shoulder a quick little squeeze and then they walk in. An underclassman helps them to their seats in the special reserved parents’ area, eyes wide the whole time, and Steve looks around.

“Do you see anyone else?”

Right on cue, everyone else shows up. _Everyone_. Natasha and Clint are leading the group in, with Pepper and Tony teasing Bruce, Lily holding Jane’s hand and their other daughter, Tyra, riding on Thor’s shoulders and giggling with Darcy, followed by Sam, Rhodey, and Carol talking animatedly, probably about Air Force nonsense. Some of the Young Avengers are floating around in the bleachers. Fury's in the crowd somewhere, but he'd preferred not to be seen. It had been a nightmare getting enough tickets for everyone. Grant had ended up bribing people with tours of the Tower to give up their unused tickets.

“Are you going to record this?” Tony asks.

“Of course,” Steve says, pulling out the holo-cam. Tony grins a little, because he always does when he sees people using his inventions, and taps his glasses.

“I’ve got JARVIS recording on here,” he confides.

Sam pulls out his phone at the same time as Bucky. “I gotta get some pictures, too,” Sam says. “I’ve got that picture collage of all my nieces and nephews graduating to fill in.”

It’s not long before the principal is calling attention to the podium and starting the ceremony. The graduating students, in their caps and gowns, march in two by two. Their row gets a little rowdy when Grant walks by, making his face and ears flush but his face split in a grin.

Half an hour later, Bucky’s shifting uncomfortably. These chairs are hard. His back’s not what it used to be. Sure, he’s a scientifically enhanced supersoldier, but he’s also _over a hundred years old_. He feels like the school should have gotten him a nice armchair or something. Some guy’s droning on and on about how important this day is for the kids. The school wanted Steve to speak, but he’d declined.

(“I don’t want to take Grant’s day,” he’d explained to Bucky.

“You just don’t want to write a speech,” Bucky countered.

“Well, that, too.”)

“This is boring,” Bucky whispers in Steve’s ear, quiet enough that the holo-cam won’t pick it up as background noise.

“My ass hurts,” Steve agrees. Bucky smirks a little and Steve gives him a dirty look. “Not like that.”

“We could slip off to the bathrooms for some of that…” Bucky jokes. Steve snorts and almost knocks the holo-cam off its tripod, making Bucky break into giggles.

“A hundred and ten years old,” Pepper says, rolling her eyes.

“A hundred and thirteen,” Bucky corrects with a grin.

“He forgets the hundred part,” Steve grumbles, laughing.

The guy speaking, some local businessman who donates a lot of money to the school every year, finally winds down and the valedictorian gets up. She’s a friend of Grant’s, and they’ve gone a few dates here and there, but nothing serious. Bucky tries to listen by virtue of her being friends with his son, but she’s kind of boring, too. Finally, the principal stands up and announces its time for diplomas.

They don’t have to wait too long for Grant’s turn, and they cheer so loud and for so long the principal has to stop and wait, giving them a hard look that makes Bucky remember fierce nuns and a paddle across his backside. Steve laughs beside him, and Bucky knows they’re thinking the same thing.

When it’s Will’s turn, they cheer again, but a lot of people boo. The year before, there had been a big push to get a school board resolution passed kicking mutants out of the schools in the district, forcing them to go to school only with other mutants. Luckily, it hadn’t passed, but a lot of people are still upset about it.

Will’s family is two rows ahead and visibly upset. His parents are clutching each other’s hands, and his brother and sister are glaring around at the crowd. Bucky pities anyone Amy catches. She’s a sweet girl, but she’s a total mama bear when it comes to her brothers. And Natasha taught her self-defense, so most of those assholes wouldn’t even know what hit them.

Will accepts his diploma with his head up, though his face is bright red. Grant holds out a hand as Will walks by him and Will grabs it tightly for a second before continuing on to his own chair.

“That’ll be a good picture,” Bucky says.

“Yeah, I’ll get a still frame of it off the video,” Steve promises. “We can make a copy for Will, too.”

Unfortunately, they have to sit through about two hundred other kids before the ceremony’s finally over. Poor Tyra’s only six, and she starts to whine not even two kids after Will. She ends up in Sam’s lap, playing games on his phone. Sam’s a total sucker for kids, and they can sense it in him immediately.

Bucky resists the urge to lean against Steve’s shoulder. He’s a sniper. He can sit still for hours—days, even, when he has to. He tries to blank his mind to staunch the boredom. It doesn’t work very well. He’s thinking ahead to the graduation party they’re hosting at the Tower, wondering if any kids are going to start trouble with Will.

Steve keeps sighing next to him. It’s subtle enough that you’d have to know him pretty well to catch it, but he can’t hide from Bucky. Bucky pulls a tiny notebook out of his back pocket and reaches over Sam to pull a pen out of Bruce’s breast pocket before handing both to Steve.

“My hero,” Steve murmurs.

He draws and Bucky watches, entertaining both of them before Tyra climbs over and starts commissioning Steve. Steve hastily turns the page when she comes over, lest she see the risqué picture he’d been drawing of Bucky. Lily looks triumphant as Sam hands her his phone to take up where Tyra left off.

“Pony,” Tyra demands. “Please.”

Finally, after Steve’s drawn an entire zoo and they’ve played four games of tic-tac-toe, Eric Zubrowski graduates and the line is over. The principal announces the graduates and they all throw their caps in the air and then scramble around picking them back up. Bucky launches to his feet, tired of sitting. It takes a few minutes for Grant to come over, since he’s fighting a crowd and stopping to talk to friends along the way, but eventually he walks up and they all clap and cheer for him again.

“Is this over?” Tyra asks loudly, hands on her hips. “Mama said we get cake when it’s over.”

“Not until Grant’s party,” Lily corrects haughtily in a big-sister bossy voice Bucky remembers from his own sisters all too well. “And _only_ if he says you can have some of his cake.”

Tyra gives Grant her best sad puppy face and he leans down to scoop her into his arms. “Of course I’ll give you cake!” He exclaims, twirling her around. He sets her down and grins at Steve and Bucky. “Go ahead,” he says, opening his arms.

Steve laughs. “You know us too well.” They both wrap him up into a big bear hug.

“I could twirl you both,” Steve says.

“You could not,” Bucky shoots back. “ _I_ could.”

“Quit hogging the kid,” Sam rebukes, pushing Steve aside so he can hug Grant.

“He’s _our_ kid,” Bucky mutters, but only to Steve. Natasha’s elbows are too pointy to say it any louder.

They take about a million pictures, but Bucky doesn't complain even once, and then they have to go back to the Tower quickly to set everything up for the party, because they’d refused to let Tony’s people handle it. They wouldn’t let Pepper get caterers or decorations or anything. Sam grumbles about that a little as they set up the food, but he does it good-naturedly. He gets it.

Will’s family gets there to help set up, and Steve endures Will’s grandma winking and flirting with him while Bucky laughs himself silly. Rather than go to the trouble of coordinating scheduling two parties, they’d decided to combine Will and Grant’s parties into one. The Tower has more space for people to cram into, anyway. Will and Grant show up just after they’ve finished setting up all the tables for food and gifts.

“I swear, teenagers have a sixth sense for when the work is over,” Bucky teases.

“They probably sat in the lobby and waited for JARVIS to give them the all clear,” Steve chimes in.

“You caught us,” Grant laughs. “But that’s a good idea. I’m totally using JARVIS next time.”

It’s not long before guests start showing up, a mix of SHIELD agents, Barnes family members, Grant and Will’s classmates, and Grant’s baseball coaches. Dr. Jones, Grant’s old therapist and Gabe’s granddaughter, even shows up.

“Oh, I can’t believe he’s graduating from _high school_ ,” she says.

“I know what you mean,” Steve tells her, shaking his head. “Seems like just yesterday he was crawling into bed with us after a nightmare.”

“That _was_ yesterday,” Bucky teases, ruffling Grant’s hair.

“Papa,” Grant hisses, eyes flitting over to a group of girls in the corner. Bucky holds up his hands apologetically.

“Maybe offer them something to drink?” He suggests.

“Can I offer them beer?” Grant asks cheekily. Steve gives him a look.

“Yes, Grant, that’s a great idea. Offer underage kids beer at our highly-publicized superhero tower.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Grant rolls his eyes. “Learn to take a joke, old man.”

Steve clutches his chest theatrically. “Old man?”

“Well, you _are_ old,” Natasha pipes up out of nowhere.

“Of course you’d be here for an old person joke,” Bucky laughs.

“Who’s our target?” She asks Grant, motioning almost imperceptibly at the girls in the corner.

“No one!” Grant protests. “Stop!”

There’s a lot more teasing and talking and meeting up with people they haven’t seen in a while. A lot of the Barnes cousins showed up, and some of them not even just for the free food. Of course, there are also Will’s family members who they don’t know, so Steve and Bucky and the rest of the team end up signing a few autographs. A lot of non-SHIELD people (and, actually, a few of the SHIELD agents) are staring at Fury in awe and a bit of apprehension, with his eye-patch and his pursed lips, but Maria Hill whispers something to him and he laughs and people relax a little. It helps that Tyra refuses to come down from her perch on his shoulders.

Before it all winds down, Tony taps a fork against his glass. “The parents should give speeches!” He calls. Steve gives him a narrow-eyed look. He’s good-naturedly flushed, but he must have brought his own drink because their punch has no alcohol in it.

“Yeah!” A few people call out. Steve and Bucky look at each other and then at Will’s parents. Will’s dad makes a face but his mom shrugs.

“Well…” She starts. “We’re very proud of Will. Things haven’t been easy for him at school, and we’re proud that he hung in there and finished, even when people were sometimes ugly to him.”

“And we’re grateful he never lost his compassion,” Will’s dad adds. “He didn’t let everything make him bitter. He still has that soft heart he’s always had. We’re proud of you, son, and we love you, and we hope you don’t let the world change you as you get older.”

Will’s face is bright red, but he hugs his parents without a hint of embarrassment. Everyone looks at Steve and Bucky. Steve clears his throat uncomfortably.

“Boy, that’s a tough act to follow,” he mumbles to Bucky, rubbing his forehead. “Um, we’re also proud of Grant,” he says louder, to the crowd. “And all of you who graduated today. We, uh…neither of us graduated from high school, you know, so. That’s a big achievement.” He blows out a breath. “Grant had some distractions, and there are a lot of things he’s been through that are terrible, and would justify if he wanted to give up. But he pushed through and, well.” Steve shrugs. “We’re just so proud of everything you’ve done.” He looks at Bucky and raises his eyebrows.

“Uh,” Bucky licks his lips. “Yep. We’re real proud. Honestly, sometimes I still can’t believe we got so lucky to not only have a kid, but _this_ kid. He’s great. Well, honestly, actually, you know what, he’s kinda awful—he’s too stubborn, like his dad,” Bucky shoots Steve a look. “And he’s too smart for us, most days. Always has been. But, uh. I kinda like ‘em like that, you know, I like the stubborn ones who fight back. And that’s sorta the way Grant’s lived his life, fighting back, with everything that’s happened, so…well, I guess what I’m saying is, we’re proud of you, but we’re not surprised, because we always knew you’d be great.” Bucky nods once, definitively, to show that he’s done.

Grant’s studying his shoes, face all lit up with a blush, bashful and awkward with this kind of open praise in front of everyone. Clint laughs a little and gives him a little nudge toward Steve and Bucky, and he goes willingly. He doesn’t protest or look around to see if anyone’s watching before wrapping an arm around them each, and the three of them squeeze tightly together.

“We love you,” Steve whispers to him.

“So much,” Bucky adds.

“I love you, too,” Grant promises, giving them the lopsided grin that got them both wrapped around his little finger when he was three years old.

Bucky has to clear his throat, feeling a little choked up. They let go of Grant, but Steve and Bucky keep their arms around each other, and Steve presses a small, discreet kiss to the side of Bucky’s head.

“Don’t go crying in public,” he teases quietly.

“Shh, I don’t cry,” Bucky protests, a little smile slipping across his face. Steve snorts. Bucky’s always been an easy crier, even back when they were kids.

“I know you don’t,” Steve soothes condescendingly. Bucky laughs, only a little watery, and elbows Steve in the ribs in retaliation.

“It’s just—he’s gonna leave now, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs as they watch Grant flirting with a girl. He’s pretty smooth, Bucky thinks smugly.

Steve sighs. “I know. We get him this summer and then we’ll be on our own again.”

“It’s gonna be weird without him. Fifteen years of raising him and all the sudden he’s gone? Not fair. I want him around longer.”

Steve lets his head rest against Bucky’s. “Me, too.”

“Are you two getting sad over here?” Sam asks, hands on hips. “Quit it. College Park’s only three and a half hours away. Maryland’s a good school.”

“Just such a shame to leave New York,” Bucky says, shaking his head. Sam snorts.

“You both did.”

“Yeah, and look how that turned out,” Bucky shoots back, laughing a little. Steve elbows him.

“Not funny.”

“Kinda funny.”

“I thought parents were supposed to be counting down the days until their brood left the nest,” Tony chimes in. “Or maybe that was just my parents.”

“If you were my kid…” Bucky starts to joke, then thinks a little harder about the kind of childhood Tony had. “Well, I wouldn’t want you to leave.”

Tony looks surprised and Steve hides a smile in Bucky’s hair. Tony doesn’t quite know how to deal with such a sentiment, and claps Bucky on the back before retreating to find Pepper.

Eventually, the party ends, the guests leave, and they have to clean up. Tony’s bots help, sort of, and Grant pulls out Min-E from his closet to do some of the work, too, but he and Dum-E end up bumping into each other and knocking the rest of the vegetable platter off the table. After that, the bots go away.

It takes a few weeks before Grant’s diploma actually turns up, since the school mails them after graduation, but Steve and Bucky are ecstatic when it gets there.

“Stevie!” Bucky calls. “Where’s the frame?”

“It’s here?” Steve calls back, stumbling down the hall, hopping a little as he tries to walk and put his shoe on at the same time.

“It’s here!” Bucky confirms. The diploma’s there, but Grant is not; he’s off spending the day with Will, who’s leaving the next morning. Rather than a traditional college, Will’s enrolled in Xavier’s school, but they’re spending the summer at Xavier’s house in England rather than the New York campus where they’ll be for the fall and winter school terms. Grant’s a little devastated, but he’s trying his hardest to be excited for Will, since he’ll get to travel and, for the first time in his life, be surrounded by other people who understand what he's gone through.

Steve gets the special frame they ordered for the diploma and they waste no time putting it up in the living room. They sit on the couch and just admire it.

“What if Grant wants to take it with him to college?” Steve suddenly asks.

“Huh.” They hadn’t thought of that. “Well, I guess we’ll make a copy and put the copy on the wall.”

They’re quiet for another beat. “Do you think he’ll want to?”

Bucky shrugs. “I don’t think most people do. Fancy people put their college degrees up on their office walls but I’ve never seen a high school diploma in any doctor’s office.”

They’re quiet again, leaning against each other and looking at the fancy paper with Grant’s name on it.

“Our son is going to _college_ ,” Steve says with a little laugh. “College, Buck!”

Bucky laughs too. “Our son is going to a good college,” he adds. “And he’s going to play baseball!”

“He’s nervous about making the team,” Steve reminds him.

“He’ll make it,” Bucky says confidently.

“Yeah, he will,” Steve agrees. He rests his head against Bucky’s shoulder. “I think we did alright, you know. So far.”

Bucky can’t keep the smile off his face. “We did, Stevie. We did great.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone wondering, Grant's going to University of Maryland and will try to walk-on to their baseball team. (Meaning he's enrolled in school without a spot on the team already and will go through tryouts once he gets to school.)


	19. Back to School

The car is packed, filled with boxes and big plastic containers. They’re taking a pickup truck instead of their trusty four-door, because they’ll be able to fit more in the back and Tony has a fleet of vehicles, anyway, so they might as well use it. Grant’s in a cooking dorm, because as a hopeful athlete he’d been worried about eating dining hall food for every meal, so he’s got kitchen ware and decorations and bedding.

And they’re really doing it. They’re really driving off to Maryland to leave their son behind in a place they’ve never been to and won’t be there with him.

Not that Steve and Bucky are freaking out.

The drive isn’t terrible; Grant plugs his phone in and plays his music and Steve and Bucky teasingly complain about it.

“At least he doesn’t want to listen to that damn monkeys jumping on the bed song anymore,” Bucky points out, but it makes both his and Steve’s mouths turn down into sad little frowns and Grant rolls his eyes long-sufferingly.

“For _hours_ every day,” Steve reminisces. “And then you’d make us sing it while you jumped on your bed or the couch.”

“Or our bed,” Bucky cuts in.

“And you’d get very dramatic during the part about falling down and bumping heads.”

“Sometimes you worked yourself up to actual tears.”

“After college you could probably try out acting.”

“Guys,” Grant groans. “Are you going to do this all day?”

“Yes,” Steve answers unapologetically.

“And we’ll embarrass you in front of your new roommates, too,” Bucky adds. Grant huffs, but he’s smiling a little.

The campus is crawling with other freshmen trying to find their dorms and their orientation groups. Grant’s looking out the window apprehensively. He’s never had to make new friends without Will by his side; he met Will the first day of kindergarten and they’d been best friends since.

He gets his key from the RA at the folding table on the lawn in front of his dorm. Between the three of them, it only takes two trips to get all of his boxes inside. Having two supersoldiers for parents comes in handy an awful lot.

“Well, this is…homey,” Steve tries. They’ve gotten spoiled, living in opulence in the Tower for so long. The dorm looks tiny. There are four bedrooms arranged around two bathrooms, a living room, and a kitchen that’s probably bigger than the one Steve and Bucky had before the war but looks almost comically small.

“This is better than most dorms,” Grant points out. “I looked at all the pictures and everything.” He bites his lip, looking around. He’d gotten the names of his roommates a few weeks ago and has already been talking to some of them; he’s nervous because he’s the only freshman. He has five roommates; three are sophomores and two are juniors.

“Well.” Bucky claps his hands together. “Let’s see which rooms don’t have any stuff in them and then pick the one with the worst vantage point for snipers from surrounding buildings.”

“Papa,” Grant sounds a little pained and Steve shakes his head.

“Don’t try to fight it. It’s gonna happen that way. You think we’re leaving you here without knowing you’re as safe as possible?”

Grant purses his lips but obediently slinks around to peek his head into the open doors. “I can only choose one of the doubles,” he reminds his parents. “The juniors get the single rooms.”

“Maybe one of them can show you around,” Bucky suggests. “Getting in with an older kid won’t be bad. They can help you out.”

“But you should still go to your freshman orientation,” Steve clarifies. “Meet other freshmen.”

“I know,” Grant mutters. “There isn’t any stuff in either of the double rooms.”

“Perfect,” Bucky says, eyes already searching the room he’s in. He crosses to the window and sticks his head out. Steve goes to the other double room to check it.

“Well, this one’s no good,” Steve calls. “Direct line from the whole side of that building. Every single window matches up. Ridiculous. This is terrible, safety-wise.”

“This one’s a little better,” Bucky reports. “So this one it is. There’s a partial sightline from that other building, but mostly you’ve got their corner.” He sighs. “I’d prefer _no_ windows from the other building, but looks like this is as good as it's gonna get.”

“I don’t think many college dorms are built based on their safety from snipers,” Grant says.

“They should be,” Bucky answers darkly. “The number of shootings in this country?”

“Can we please not have this discussion _again_?” Grant pleads.

Bucky waves a hand. “Fine. But I’m still not happy you’re not allowed to have a gun.”

That’s when a kid behind them coughs. Bucky’s still hanging halfway out the window, eyeing the drop from the second floor just in case Grant ever has to jump out.

“Hi,” Grant says awkwardly. “Um, I’m Grant.”

“I’m Neil,” the kid says, sticking out a hand. “You’re the freshman, right? Cap and Bucky’s kid?”

Grant blushes a little. “Um, yeah.” He shoots a look at Bucky and Neil follows his gaze. Bucky’s butt is on prominent display. Steve walks into the doorway behind Neil and wolf-whistles.

“Talk about a room with a _view_ ,” he laughs. Bucky wiggles his ass around obligingly.

“Oh my _God_ ,” Grant hisses.

Neil’s eyes are wide. “Wow,” he breathes. “I mean—wow. I, uh, I knew you were Cap’s kid because I looked you up, but this is…” He trails off. Steve sticks out his hand and Neil’s eyes go, if possible, wider.

“I’m Steve. Nice to meet you.” He jerks a thumb at Bucky, who has finally pulled himself back into the room. “That’s Bucky.”

“Hi.” Neil sounds completely starstruck. Bucky shakes his hand, too, and then looks him over subtly. Neil probably doesn’t even notice. Steve and Bucky already ran a background check on all of Grant’s roommates, based on the list he got, so they already know quite a bit about Neil without him saying anything—he’s a junior, he’s an economics major, and his parents, Jessica and Neil senior, are a banker and a stay at home mother, respectively.

“Um, I’m in one of the single rooms,” Neil says, pointing down the hall. “But I think you’ll be sharing a room with Tim. He probably won’t show up until right before classes start, because he’s from around here so he’ll just come over whenever he wants.”

“Oh, you guys already all know each other?” Steve asks.

“Yeah, Alex, the other junior, was my roommate freshman year. Mike’s his little brother, and Mike and Ethan grew up together and then met Tim last year in their freshman English class.”

Grant looks a little dismayed. He was nervous enough about living with older kids, but now he feels even worse knowing they’re already friends. He’s always been a little on the shy side; it was good to have Will, who was outgoing, because Will met people and Grant got to be their friends by association.

Steve puts a comforting arm around Grant’s shoulder. “Grant’s going to be on the baseball team.”

Grant’s face goes scarlet. “If I make the team,” he mumbles. “I have to try out.”

“But he’ll definitely make it,” Bucky says conspiratorially. “So I hope you guys like baseball.”

“Oh—um, cool,” Neil says quickly. “I’ve never really been into sports, but that’s cool, I guess. A jock in our apartment. It’s, uh. It’ll be a new experience.”

Grant looks miserable. Steve squeezes Grant a little and Bucky looks like he’s ready to give Neil a piece of his mind. Grant gives him a pleading look and he presses his lips together obediently.

“Well, Neil, it’s great to meet you. Grant’s going to go to freshman orientation, and Bucky and I are going to a parents’ meeting,” Steve says. They pile Grant’s boxes onto his bed before leaving.

“Great,” Grant sighs once they’re out of the building. “They’re all friends already. And they hate sports. Just great.”

“He never said they hate sports,” Steve tries to comfort him. “They probably think you’re a bully, like jocks on movies. They just don’t know you yet.”

“Besides, even if they’re awful, you’ll make other friends,” Bucky says. “In your classes and on the baseball team. Probably here at orientation!”

“Yeah, maybe,” Grant says quietly.

Leaving Grant with his freshman orientation group is not the easiest thing in the world. He looks so glum, standing on the outside of a group of other freshmen, not talking to anyone. Steve hadn’t been swimming in friends at that age, before he went to art school and made other artist friends, but he’d never been afraid to speak up in a group, whether or not Bucky was there, and he _did_ have friends besides Bucky.

“He’s made friends without Will before,” Bucky points out, voice strained. “I mean, Will never played sports with him and he always made friends on his team.”

“He’ll be fine,” Steve agrees. Neither of them are sure they believe it.

The parents’ meeting is boring. Bucky falls asleep and Steve draws him, making sure to capture the drool sliding steadily down the corner of his mouth and the lines on his face from the plates in his arm. He titles it _Prince Charming_ to be an ass. They meet up with Grant and go get something to eat.

“How was orientation?” Bucky asks.

Grant shrugs. “Fine.”

Steve winces a little when Grant doesn’t go on. That’s never a good sign. “Meet anyone interesting?”

“I didn’t really talk to anyone,” Grant admits, picking at his burrito.

They fight their way through a grocery store to stock up Grant’s cupboard, and then Steve and Bucky hover while Grant unpacks. They get his bed all set up, hang his posters, put his clothes in his dresser and the closet.

“Well…” Bucky hesitates. The original plan was for them to drive back to the Tower that night, but he can tell Steve’s on the same page he is: they don’t want to leave Grant. They wouldn’t want to anyway, but especially not when he’s obviously feeling insecure.

“We could stay the night,” Steve says softly, aware of Neil just down the hall and not wanting to embarrass Grant. “We could find a hotel.”

“We could sleep on the top bunk,” Bucky jokes. The two of them on a twin bed would certainly be a tight squeeze.

Grant thinks it over, but blows out a breath and shakes his head. “I’ll be fine,” he promises, forcing a smile. “You have to leave eventually, right?”

“Not necessarily,” Bucky mutters. Grant laughs a little.

“Really,” Grant insists. “I’ll be fine.”

Steve and Bucky have a silent conversation. They don’t want to hover if he wants them to leave, but he doesn’t look terribly comfortable.

“Alright,” Steve says. “We won’t stay the night. But we don’t have to leave yet. It’s only four o’clock. We could see a movie.”

Grant agrees, seeming a little relieved. They see a cartoon that’s marketed to kids but based on a TV series Grant used to watch as a kid, and the theater is full of college kids reliving their childhoods.

But eventually, the movie ends, they finish dinner, and there’s not really any reason to keep stalling. It’s almost eight; they won’t get home until midnight, at this rate, though neither of them care much. They don’t really have to worry about falling asleep at the wheel or darkness impairing their vision.

“You got everything you need? You got your knives?” Bucky checks. “We could bring your car down in a few weekends. Then you wouldn’t have to rely on buses.”

Grant shrugs. “There’s not really a lot of parking,” he points out.

“Well, see how the first few weeks go and if you change your mind we’ll figure something out,” Steve says.

Grant’s biting his lip the whole time he walks out to the parking lot with them, and suddenly it’s like he’s five and it’s the first day of kindergarten all over. He’s still pretty small for his age—not as small as Steve had been, but smaller than a lot of the other freshmen milling around, and the shadows from the falling sun illuminate his cheeks that still hold a hint of baby-fat roundness.

“Bye,” he says, lower lip wobbling a little, and Bucky suddenly feels like he can’t breathe. He looks at Steve and sees the same panic stealing across his face. Bucky’s throat starts to get tight. _Don’t cry_ , he scolds himself. _It’s hard enough on the kid as it is_.

“You sure you don’t want us to stay?” Steve bursts out. Grant swallows hard.

“Dragging it out’s not gonna make it any easier,” he points out, voice trembling.

“But…” Steve clenches his jaw. “Oh boy. This is hard.”

“I’ll be okay,” Grant repeats for what feels like the hundredth time that day. He puts on a brave face and all Bucky can think of is the little boy who wet his bed a few times a month until he was six. It doesn't help that he still looks so much like Steve, all pointy shoulders and forced bravery, making Bucky think of Steve in a too-large jacket after his mom's funeral.

“You can call us whenever you want,” Bucky tells him. “You wake up in the middle of the night and can’t sleep, you call us and we’ll answer.”

“You get drunk at a party and can’t get home, we’ll drive down and get you,” Steve says with a watery little laugh. “Please don’t get really drunk at any parties. It doesn’t seem safe. At least make sure you have someone to watch your back.”

“You’re an adult and can make your own decisions,” Bucky adds. “But we want you to make smart decisions.”

“I don’t really want a repeat of that party I went to junior year,” Grant promises. He’s chewing at his lip, the way he does when he’s nervous or scared. Bucky pulls him in for a tight hug and only lets go so Steve can have one, too, and then the three of them press close together in a group hug like they’ve been doing for the last fifteen years, and Bucky doesn’t know if he’s going to be able to leave here without Grant.

“Call us a lot,” Steve half-orders, half-suggests.

“I will,” Grant assures them.

“Look for someone to practice with before tryouts,” Bucky reminds him. He nods. They all hug again, and then Grant steps back and Steve and Bucky get in the car.

“Wait!” Grant cries. He opens the door to the backseat and Bucky thinks for a wild minute he’s just going to come home with them. Instead, he plucks something up from the backseat. Bucky twists to get a better look.

It’s Bucky Bear, tattered and worn.

“I wasn’t sure if I was really going to bring him,” Grant admits. “But I—I need him. I know I'm too old—”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Steve breaks in firmly. He’s using his Captain America voice so his voice doesn’t break.

“Bye,” Grant says, pressing Bucky Bear to his chest. They watch him in the mirror until they round the corner and can’t see him anymore.

  
The house is quiet without Grant. He always had friends coming over, study groups, dates—there were always a few kids hanging around. And now it’s just Steve and Bucky. Not that there aren’t any perks, like having sex in the living room ( _and_ the kitchen _and_ the hallway), but still. It’s strange.

The hardest part is when Grant calls home; they can hear in his voice and see on the little hologram version of his face that he’s not having a very good first few weeks of school. He got lost and missed a class, he hasn’t really made any friends, and he isn’t getting along with his roommates.

“We’re not _not_ getting along,” he clarifies quickly. “It’s fine. We’re just not…friends.”

“Even the one you share a room with?” Steve asks, face pained. Grant shrugs.

“Well, he spends a lot of time at home, since his family’s from around here. He’s got a girlfriend or something. I don’t know. I don’t really see him much.”

“Kinda like you have your own room?” Bucky asks. “That’s not too awful, is it?”

“No, it’s fine,” Grant says. It’s the only word he’s used to describe all of college so far. _Fine_. “Did I tell you he’s named after Dugan?”

“Is he related?” Steve asks.

“No, his parents are history teachers or something. They just liked Dugan best, I guess.”

Bucky snorts. “Well, if he’s anything like Dugan you better watch out. Damn poker cheat.”

Grant laughs. “I don’t think we’ll be playing a lot of poker.”

They wait anxiously for him to call the day of the results from baseball tryouts. “I’m sure he made it,” Bucky says over and over. “He’s great.”

“A left-handed second baseman, though…” Steve frets.

“He makes that turn faster than most right-handed guys,” Bucky points out.

“I’m sure he made it,” Steve echoes Bucky’s words. Their phones go off at the same time, playing the shared line ringtone. It’s Grant, but it’s not a holo-call, and Bucky cringes as he answers the phone.

“Hi, kid.”

“Hi,” Grant says, voice guarded. “You both there?”

“We’re here,” Steve reassures him.

“Well. Found out about the team today,” Grant says slowly.

There’s a long pause and Steve clenches his free hand into a fist. “And?”

“I made it!” Grant bursts out.

“You little shit, you had us so worried,” Bucky breathes. Grant laughs, loud and long.

“I couldn’t help it,” he defends himself, grin audible. “It was too good to pass up.”

Steve sighs in relief. “Well, we forgive you, since you made it.”

Grant sounds giddy. “I won’t be starting or anything. I might not even play this whole first year, since I’m just a freshman and walked on. But I made it!”

“We’ll come to as many games as we can,” Bucky promises.

“Aw, you don’t have to,” Grant protests. “I’ll mostly be sitting on the bench.”

“You’ll be the best bench-sitter there ever was,” Steve declares. “And you’ll be ready as soon as the coach decides to put you in. We’re not gonna miss it.”

Grant laughs. “Well, alright. If you really want.”

After they hang up with him, Steve grins at Bucky. “I was starting to really get worried about him.”

“Me, too,” Bucky admits. “But he’ll have teammates now to hang out with.”

They’re quiet for a minute, Steve’s feet in Bucky’s lap and Bucky tapping a little rhythm against Steve’s ankle aimlessly as he goes back to the book he’d been reading. Steve clucks his tongue a few times and Bucky looks up obligingly.

“Kinda bored,” Steve says pointedly. Bucky glances down at his book for a second.

“Gimme half a page?” He requests. “Then I’ll suck you off, if you want.”

“How ‘bout I do you while you read?” Steve counters. “If you think you can focus on your book instead of me.”

Bucky’s lips curl up in a challenging smirk. “Oh, someone’s feeling pretty confident about his skills, huh?”

Steve raises an eyebrow, already unbuckling Bucky’s belt. “Pretty sure I have good reason to feel confident.”

Bucky huffs. “Well, we’ll see, won’t we?”

Steve pauses, Bucky’s zipper halfway down. “What do I get if I win?”  
  
“Anything you want,” Bucky murmurs.

And really, they both win in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4 chapters left now, oh good gracious. Things to expect in upcoming chapters: Will walking into the Tower like he thinks he lives there! Grant at college parties! Discrimination against mutants! A battle where Grant actually sees his fathers' badass fighting skills! And a happy ending overall!


	20. Pick a side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to give clues throughout the chapter, but just in case it isn't clear: this chapter is during Grant's sophomore year of college, so a bit over a year since the last chapter. Also, if you noticed the rating change and are hoping for some sexytimes, sorry. It's for a future chapter, and it's not for sex then, either. Do I think there are children who are going to read this and need the higher rating? No, not really, but it's just to be safe.

Steve sighs and scrubs his hand through his hair wearily. Bucky slips an arm around his waist and squeezes tight for a second while Steve opens the door. They’re both exhausted. They’d been away for over a week on a mission in Bolivia, then had to go straight to a school board public meeting for Grant’s old district because they’re trying to force out the mutant students _again_. It’s the third year in a row.

“I want to sleep for two days,” Bucky mutters.

“Maybe three,” Steve agrees.

As Steve opens the door, Bucky tenses behind him and grabs his belt loop to stop him from going inside just as Steve hears the sound of someone moving around.

“Jarvis?” Steve breathes out.

“Sorry!” Will yells from inside. “It’s just me!”

Bucky lets out a breath with a _whoosh_. No matter how many years pass, Bucky’s worries about HYDRA and countless other sinister groups out to get them will never go away. Steve’s torn between reminding Bucky that Jarvis wouldn’t let anyone unapproved in and scolding Will because he should know better.

“I apologize for the lack of warning, sirs,” Jarvis says. “I was assisting Ms. Potts on a project that took up much of my attention.”

“It’s fine,” Bucky says to everyone at once. Steve has to give him a close once-over before he can relax, because when Bucky’s tense, Steve’s tense.

“I’m so sorry,” Will apologizes again. “I was just waiting for a long time and I got kinda hungry, so I went in.”

“It’s okay,” Bucky promises. “We’re fine. No one shot anyone.”

“Jarvis wouldn’t let us shoot you,” Steve assures when Will's eyes go wide.

“Certainly not,” Jarvis confirms.

“You here visiting or you need something?” Steve asks. Will stops by every so often just to hang out, even with Grant in Baltimore for the second year; they’ve been such close friends for so long that he’s gotten pretty close with Steve and Bucky, too, and he lives close enough to visit them and his own parents. Plus, his parents had spent a month straight in North Dakota with his grandmother last summer, so Will had practically lived with them.

“Just visiting,” Will says, taking a bite of the sandwich he’d been making when they showed up and then talking around it, ignoring the dirty looks he gets in return. “Heard you were going to the school board and wanted to hear how it went.”

Steve grimaces and Will’s face falls a little. “Not too hot,” Steve admits.

“Even Captain America can’t save those assholes,” Bucky adds sourly.

“You think it’s gonna pass this year? Maybe every year Grant’s not in school your pull gets weaker.” Will keeps his tone casual, but his hands are shaking a little.

“We’re gonna fight it,” Steve promises. “We’re going to every school board meeting and we’re speaking up every time. And if it does pass, we’ll keep fighting.”

“We’re not letting them just get away with this shit, kid,” Bucky says quietly, gently taking Will’s glass of milk away before he can spill it all over.

Will nods a few times, lips pressed together tightly like he’s trying not to cry. It’s an expression Steve and Bucky recognize from the early years of his friendship with Grant, when they were both younger, but he’s still not even twenty. It almost seems impossible that they were ever that young.

“Well, maybe I should’ve just called,” Will says ruefully. “You just got back from a mission, didn’t you? I’ll go.”

“Nah, don’t worry ‘bout it,” Bucky protests.

“Come watch Dog Cops: Bozeman with us. Clint’s almost half a season ahead of us and we’re trying to catch up,” Steve tells him. Will hesitates for a minute and Bucky steals his plate of food to take it to the coffee table. If there’s one thing that’ll get him to move, it’s food.

“We’re going to Baltimore to surprise Grant at his game this weekend,” Steve tells Will. “Wanna come? We’ll leave Saturday morning. The game’s in the afternoon.”

“Yeah!” Will says enthusiastically, muffled through his chips. “I got a test Monday but I can study in the car.”

“You sure?” Bucky checks. “We’ll be going plenty; if this is bad timing just come to a different game. Your schoolwork is important, Will, and it’s okay to put yourself first. Grant will understand if you can’t come this time. We don’t want you to feel obligated to come with us. And even if you want to see Grant, you still need to be your education first.”

Will waits patiently where Grant would’ve interrupted, because Will is comfortable with them but not _that_ comfortable and also Grant’s got enough of Steve in him that words sometimes just sort of burst out of him, manners be damned.

“I promise it’ll be fine,” Will says. “It’s for my mutant history class and you know how into that stuff I’ve always been.”

“Well, as long as you’re sure,” Steve says, cutting off Bucky from protesting. It’s not that Steve doesn’t think education is important; he does. But he’s a little less worried about grades than Bucky. It had always been that way. Steve was never a great student, partially because he missed so much class and partially because he thought schools didn’t teach enough of the really important stuff.

Bucky, on the other hand, had gotten straight A’s for most of his school years and probably could’ve gotten a scholarship to college if he’d graduated high school. But his dad had lost his factory job and Bucky had gone to work for his uncle before he could finish school, so his college dreams went out the window.

“On my honor,” Will swears. Bucky lets it go. He can get a little intense about school—not so much that he’d ever demanded top grades from Grant, but he did demand Grant try his hardest and not be lazy about it—but he also knows that being too overbearing won’t get a positive reaction.

Jarvis orders them Chinese, and Will eats _more_ , and Steve falls asleep before the first episode is even through the opening credits. Bucky laughs at him but follows him less than ten minutes later. Will snaps a hologram of the scene and sends it to Grant with the caption _Old farts can’t stay awake._

Grant sends back a picture of himself pouting, with the caption, _Stop hanging out with my dads without me_. It’s all par for the course these days.

  
Will keeps his promise and studies for part of the drive, pointing out that he’s been studying all week to appease Bucky. They get to the baseball field early enough to get good seats. Natasha, Sam, and Clint drive behind them. Last year, everyone had come out to a few games in New York, but there are closer games than all the way in Baltimore that the rest of the team will come to. Natasha, Sam, and Clint just miss Grant too much to wait.

They take up an entire row of the bleachers, baseball caps pulled low to obscure their faces, and don’t have to wait long before the team comes out. They’re all keeping their eyes peeled for Grant’s blond hair, the number 4 across his back, but they don’t see him.

“Maybe he’s behind getting his ankle taped,” Bucky suggests. “He said it was bothering him a few weeks ago.”

But the teams go through their warmups, and Grant never shows. The game starts, and someone else is wearing number 4. Steve and Bucky are both tense, strung tight and worried.

“I’ll go look in the locker room,” Sam offers.

“Someone else is wearing his jersey,” Steve points out. “If he was just out with an injury, he’d still be in his uniform on the bench.”

“There’s no way he just disappeared without someone notifying you,” Natasha soothes. “If he wasn’t showing up for practice and they asked around and knew no one had seen him, you’d hear about it.”

“I just holo-called with him yesterday and he looked fine. He didn’t use any distress codes,” Clint adds.

“Maybe we should go search his dorm,” Bucky says grimly, already mentally cataloging all the different organizations that could have gone after him.

“Hang on,” Will breaks in. “I’ll just go ask someone on the bench.” He slips down to the dugout, and everyone watches closely as he leans into the fence. His brow scrunches up, and then he rears back like he’s been slapped. Bucky is off the hard bench of the bleachers before he even thinks, but Will’s already walking back to them.

“He’s not on the team anymore,” Will says, sounding dazed. “He quit three weeks ago.”

“ _What_?” Steve demands.

“Because of the mutant thing.” Will’s chin comes up, lips pursed. “I don’t know what the mutant thing is in this case, but whoever that guy was, he didn’t think much of mutants.” Steve is struck, suddenly, by how much control Will has over himself. He probably just listened to some rant about how he doesn’t deserve to be in public, and he didn’t shoot the speaker with flames. Steve can admire the self-control, because it’s something he’s still not great at.

Natasha glares toward the dugout like she’s considering giving some random college baseball player a manners lesson, but Will shakes his head a little, like he’s clearing it. “Grant never said anything to me about quitting.”

“Not us, either,” Steve confirms. Clint and Sam shake their heads. Natasha tilts her head to one side, considering.

“Well, some things make a little more sense now,” she starts slowly. “A few weeks ago he asked me if I thought it was the right thing to leave a group of oppressors instead of staying and fighting for the oppressed group from within.” She rolls her eyes a little, smiling. “I told him I’m not so solid on what the right thing to do is ever.”

Sam snorts. “Yeah, right,” he says sarcastically. “You’re so morally ambiguous these days.”

Clint laughs. “Sam’s right. You’re such a good guy now. A kid came to you for guidance. Time to stop denying it.”

“I guess we should see if he’s at his dorm.” Bucky exchanges a look with Steve. They’re both a little wounded he never said anything. They’ve always prided themselves on how close they are with their son, how he feels he can tell them anything.

Grant’s not at his dorm, and Bucky starts to feel a little irritated. His roommate, a boy named Scott with tattoos creeping up his neck that Steve looks at very interestedly while trying to pretend he isn’t looking, shrugs at them. “I think he’s at work,” he says.

“Grant doesn’t have a job,” Bucky protests. “He’s too busy with…oh.” Grant never had a job because he had baseball. But if he’s not on the team anymore, that would free up a lot of time.

“Do you know where he works?” Steve asks.

“Uh, he’s a tutor for some American history class,” Scott says, eyeing Steve carefully. Steve shifts a little, hunching his shoulders to cover his face more with his flipped-up collar.

“Where does he tutor?” Natasha asks, and Scott’s eyes zoom onto her almost greedily. She raises an eyebrow when he doesn’t answer. “Where,” she repeats, not even bothering to make it a question.

He gives them directions to the right building, and they get there just in time to meet Grant coming down the steps. He’s had a late growth spurt, and he’s at least three inches taller than he was when he left to go back to school after the summer break—now he’s almost the same height as Will. His face lights up for a second before he freezes and gets a deer-in-headlights look.

“Oh, man,” he murmurs. “You drove all the way here to surprise me and watch my baseball game, didn’t you?”

“That was the plan,” Steve says dryly.

“Okay, look, it’s not that big of a deal. I just didn’t want to play anymore and was trying to figure out how to tell you.”

Everyone stares at him, because they already now he’s lying. “What’s the mutant thing?” Will asks. Grant cringes.

“Where’d you hear about it?” He asks cautiously.

“Well, I asked a guy on your bench where you were,” Will says, voice forcefully even. Grant purses his lips.

“Sorry,” he says, apparently well aware the kind of things Will must have heard. “Okay, well. A few weeks ago Coach told us about a new rule the NCAA is enacting soon. Um, no mutants will be allowed to play NCAA sports. Any mutants on a team can finish whatever season they’re in now, but…” Grant sighs. “Well, you talked to that guy on my team, so you can imagine how they all felt about it. And I sorta…lost my cool. Maybe.”

“I’m shocked,” Bucky mutters.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Steve asks.

Grant sighs again. “I didn’t tell you,” he looks at Will, “because I didn’t want to make…well, I know things are bad and things like this keep happening, and I just.” He shrugs. “And I didn’t tell you guys because I knew you’d be disappointed.”

“You thought they’d be disappointed you walked out on a bunch of bigots?” Clint asks skeptically.

“No, that I gave up! I should have fought from the inside and changed things but I just couldn’t deal and ran away.”

It’s quiet for a few seconds while everyone processes. It’s Natasha who breaks the silence. “Sometimes you can’t fight from the inside,” she says. “There comes a point where you have to make sure everyone knows which side on you’re on.”

“You probably would’ve ended up getting kicked off anyway,” Sam points out. “Your family isn’t exactly known for keeping quiet about inequality.”

Steve shrugs unrepentantly at the pointed comment. “You didn’t hit anyone when you lost your cool, did you? That could get you in trouble with the school.”

“No, but I did yell a lot,” Grant admits.

Bucky huffs a little laugh. “And now you got a job?”

“I just wanted to show you I wasn’t slacking or anything.” Grant scuffs a shoe on the sidewalk. “I know you guys had to work so hard all the time and I don’t want to seem lazy.”

Steve and Bucky are wearing matching distressed looks. “We don’t _want_ you to have to work so hard,” Bucky tells him. “We want you to focus on school and have friends.”

“We know you’re not lazy,” Steve adds. “We were already worried it was too hard juggling baseball and school.”

“I really like tutoring. And my job’s actually not very hard,” Grant says, voice teetering between sheepish and proud. “The class is WWII history.”

Clint barks out a laugh. “What a cheater,” he teases.

Grant gives Will a worried look. “I guess I should’ve told you about the NCAA thing so you could tell Professor X. You guys are gonna fight against it, right?”

Will nods a little sadly. “Of course we will. But I’d be surprised if he didn’t already know. And I don’t know what we _can_ do. We already know we’re not a protected class under the Fourteenth Amendment, so I doubt we’d win a lawsuit.”

“Sorry I didn’t tell any of you,” Grant mumbles. Will punches him in the arm.

“Quit being such a martyr,” he says, rolling his eyes.

“Gee, I wonder where he gets that from,” Clint deadpans.

“It’s not like he knows anyone like that,” Natasha agrees.

“Do we know anyone who does that?” Sam pretends to think. Steve gives everyone a dirty look.

“You’re all implying it’s me and Bucky like none of you are the same way,” he accuses, making Grant and Will crack up laughing.

They all go out for lunch, and Grant talks about getting a tattoo—his roommate is a tattoo artist—and Steve looks interested while Bucky winces.

“I don’t think a tattoo would work on me,” Steve admits regretfully. “I think the serum would heal my skin too fast and the ink wouldn’t take.”

Grant starts to talk about the needle and Bucky tries to act unaffected, but it’s hard not to catch his wince. Clint changes the subject quickly, and a quick glance at Natasha shows she’s as grateful as Bucky. Steve wants to punch himself for not thinking deeper when he started asking Grant about his roommate and the tattoos. Bucky's in a much better place now than when he first came back to Steve after the Winter Soldier ordeal, but medical procedures and needles are still a sore subject, and Steve knows Natasha has her issues there, too. He puts his hand apologetically on Bucky's leg. Bucky smiles a little and covers Steve's hand with his own to tell him to quit fretting.

“I think I accidentally got another dog,” Clint's saying. Lucky had died almost a decade before, and he’d taken it hard. So had Grant. Grant had slept on Clint’s couch for a solid week leading up to Lucky’s death, because he didn’t want to live his side, and then he’d stayed after Lucky died for another week in solidarity to Clint.

“From where?” Grant asks.

“Oh, from Kate, of course,” Clint sighs, rolling his eyes like he doesn’t adore Kate like a little sister. “Since they’re really the front line of the Avengers these days I take the dog she and America got anytime they have missions. Her name’s Captain Barkles and she’s the stupidest dog I’ve ever seen.” It’s easy to tell he’s completely in love with the dog, no matter what he says.

Will catches Grant up on some of their friends who stuck around New York, plus some of the other kids at Will’s school Grant hung out with while he was home during the summer.

“Marcela broke up with Robbie,” Will says, a little hint of teasing in his voice that makes Bucky raise an eyebrow.

“And who’s Marcela?” Steve asks, noticing the same thing Bucky did.

Grant rolls his eyes. “She’s our friend,” he insists.

Will cracks up laughing. “She’s _my_ friend,” he points out. “I’m not totally sure what she and Grant are.”

“You traitor!” Grant hisses, because then he has to endure twenty minutes of superhero interrogation about a girl he’s “ _never even kissed_ and isn’t even close to dating and you do _not_ need run a background check on!”

“Yeah, you just _suddenly_ wanted to learn Spanish,” Will says sarcastically. “You were so interested all summer. In Spanish. And you got her number before you went back to school. So she could help you with your Spanish class. That you weren’t taking until you met her.”

Grant and Sam spend twenty minutes talking about Grant’s emergency first aid class, with Clint and Natasha butting in teasingly every few seconds to add things like, “Well, only babies need help with a gunshot wound” and “Sam doesn’t even know anything about emergency first aid; he’s just making all this up to sound cool.”

Grant reassures Natasha he’s found a gym to spar in, and then Will starts telling them about the practice gym at Xavier’s school and how the obstacle course can be adjusted to account for each student’s abilities. Natasha tries to look casual, but anyone who knows her well enough can see the hungry glint in her eyes.

Eventually, after more food and ice cream and a short but intense leaf-fight on the quad, it’s time to head back to New York. Grant puts on a smile, but it’s not hard to see he’s a little sad. And it’s not like Steve and Bucky can pretend they don’t feel the same way.

“I’ll come home some weekend, now that I don’t have baseball,” Grant promises. He says his goodbyes to everyone, accepting a kiss on the cheek from Natasha. Steve and Bucky hug him close.

“Hey,” Bucky murmurs in his ear. “We’re proud of you kid.”

“We are,” Steve confirms. “You did the right thing with the team, and you’re working hard.”

They each give him one more squeeze and then drive away. The car is quiet for a few minutes while they navigate out of the college town and get to the freeway. Then Bucky twists around in his seat to fix Will with an incredibly grave look.

“Okay,” he says seriously. “Tell us everything about this Marcela girl.”  
  
"Start with her last name," Steve adds, pointing to Bucky's phone. Just because they don't _need_ to run a background check doesn't mean they won't.


	21. Making Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg this is so sappy you guys.

Grant’s home for the summer break, and Steve and Bucky are glad to have him, but things feel different now. He’s home, but he’s an adult now, and he spends time with his parents and the rest of the team, but he doesn’t necessarily check in with Steve and Bucky like he used to in high school. Even his first summer home was different than this year; he was so happy to be home, for one thing, and Will was staying over so much it felt like the old days.

But he’s twenty now, not a teenager anymore and used to the independence of living on his own, so sometimes they don’t know where he is and have to remind themselves he’s not a little kid anymore; he doesn’t have to tell them where he’s going and he doesn’t have to ask their permission.

“It’s not like we know where he is every minute when he’s at school,” Bucky says logically, trying to calm them both down since they just got home from a run and Grant’s not in his room.

“Right,” Steve agrees. “It’s just like that.”

It’s really not like that, but they’re trying to be normal. It’s a weird adjustment to make, because they’re used to having a say in Grant’s day-to-day activities when he’s living with them.

“He probably just went out for breakfast or something,” Bucky tries.

“Catching up with old friends,” Steve adds.

“Definitely.”

They’re quiet for a beat, both telling themselves they’re fine. Steve sighs a little and starts pulling out ingredients for omelets. Bucky pulls out an ice pack and presses it to the place where metal meets skin on his left shoulder.

“Still bothering you?” Steve asks with a frown. They both have super healing, but they’re also near 50. They’re both starting to get the occasional ache. Last week Steve tweaked his knee strange and it took an entire day and a half to go back to normal.

“It hasn’t been like this for a long time,” Bucky admits. As the Winter Soldier, he hadn’t had much time out of cryo for pain to build up. When he first came back to Steve, the extra weight of the metal arm had ached constantly, leaving his muscles a tense jumble of knots. Bruce had shown him some yoga stretches to help, and he’d gone to physical therapy for a while, and it had helped. But it’s been hurting him again recently.

“Maybe you should go to medical,” Steve suggests. “Maybe a screw came loose again.”

Bucky makes a face. “Not what it feels like. Just feels like the tight muscles from before.”

“Well, you ice it and I’ll make these eggs, and then I’ll give you a nice rubdown.”

Bucky laughs. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

Steve points the spatula at him. “You only get that part if you’re good.”

Before Bucky can expound on this idea, the front door opens and Grant comes in, trailing a few other people. Will’s the only one they know.

“Getting old?” Will teases, jutting his chin at the ice pack.

“You know, some days I wake up feeling about a hundred and twenty years old,” Bucky deadpans. Will laughs, and Grant rolls his eyes. Bucky has told that joke every day this week. Every time Steve or Grant try to call him on it, he claims he can’t remember telling it. _You know, I just suffer from some mild memory loss from time to time_ , he says frequently. He thinks he’s hilarious, and Steve prefers him joking lightly about what happened to him over lashing out. Plus, he’s told Grant more than once, Bucky never was good at telling jokes, even when they were younger.

“That’s a great joke, Papa, why don’t you tell it another fifteen times?” Grant mutters good-naturedly. “This is Jason,” he says, pointing to the kid even taller than Will, “and that’s Marcela.”

It’s only because they’re both covert operatives that Steve and Bucky manage to keep their faces neutral. Grant’s giving them an anxious, wide-eyed look, so Steve puts his crowd face on and waves the spatula.

“Nice to meet you,” he says. “Anyone want an omelet?”

“Oh, we just ate, but thank you,” Jason declines politely.

“I want cheese in mine,” Grant requests. “And all the other stuff you usually do.”

“Do you have peppers?” Will asks.

“Bell or jalapeno?” Steve clarifies. “We have both. I don’t want to give you jalapeno if you don’t want it.”

“Worried he might catch fire?” Bucky cracks. Will laughs and fist-bumps him. Steve shakes his head.

“You need a new hobby,” he tells Bucky. “Your stand-up routine is no good.”

“I’m hilarious,” Bucky protests. “Am I hilarious?” He asks the gathered kids.

“Very funny,” Marcela assures him, grinning.

“Funnier than Dad, at least,” Grant agrees. Steve makes a wounded sound.

“Who’s making the food here?” He points out.

“Yeah, I got two comedians for parents,” Grant says quickly. “Funniest guys I know.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Bucky says, gesturing with his elbow because his right hand is holding the ice pack to his left shoulder.

“Mr. Barnes, do you want me to secure that?” Marcela offers. “Then you won’t have to hold it.”

“Barnes-Rogers,” Bucky corrects absently. “Is that your power? Healing or something? Or like…fusing objects together?”

Marcela makes a little noise like she’s holding in a laugh. “No. I was a pitcher in high school softball, so I know how to ice shoulders.”

“Is that an inappropriate question to ask?” Steve asks, face screwed up awkwardly.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Bucky apologizes. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“That’s okay,” Marcela promises. “It _is_ kind of invasive, but I know you weren’t trying to be hurtful.”

“Thanks,” Bucky murmurs, feeling sheepish. Marcela winds the saran wrap around his shoulder and tucks in the corners.

Everything’s quiet for a minute, slightly awkward, and then Grant clears his throat. “So, uh, Dad, those omelets…?”

Marcela throws the roll of saran wrap at him and pegs him right in the head. Steve barks out a laugh.

“Wow, now I want to see you pitch,” he says.

“Oh, I could do some real damage with a softball,” Marcela promises. "My high school team used to call me Destrucción Dominicana."

“Please don’t show us right now,” Grant requests, and then they have a little conversation with their smiles and eyes that leaves Steve and Bucky, looking on, halfway between amused and unsettled. Their son is close enough with this girl to have silent conversations? And they’re only just meeting her now?

“Jason, Marcela, you sure you don’t want an omelet?” Steve checks.

“Steve’s omelets will definitely not kill you,” Bucky adds. Steve exaggerates fluttering his eyelashes and puts a hand to his chest.

“You give me the best compliments, Buck.”

“I do try.”

“Um,” Jason deliberates.

“Tell you what, I’ll make enough for everyone and if you want some, you can eat it. If not, Bucky and I will finish them off,” Steve says.

“He’s not kidding,” Will warns. “They do not leave food behind.”

“Well, they lived through the Great Depression,” Jason points out. “My mom remembers her grandma being like that.”

“We’re the same age as his great-grandmother,” Bucky says to Steve.

“Maybe you knew her!” Grant suggests.

“She lived in North Dakota,” Jason says.

“Well, maybe not,” Grant allows.

“She probably had Steve’s comics,” Bucky laughs. “Oh, all the girls loved big, strong Captain America. The star-spangled man with a plan.”

Steve gives Bucky a dirty look. “If you sing that song, I’m giving Will your omelets.”

“You’d never,” Bucky counters confidently. Steve rolls his eyes but doesn’t deny it. It’s true. The instinct to feed each other hasn’t gone away yet and doesn’t seem like it ever will.

The kids don’t stay long after eating, leaving Steve to give Bucky his promised backrub. He winces a little at the way he can feel the knots in Bucky’s back and shoulder.

“Buck, you gotta do something about this,” Steve says. “I don’t like you being in this much pain all the time.”

Bucky hisses a little as Steve works on a particularly stubborn knot. “It’s not really—ah! It’s not pain all the time. Just tense. And sore—oh!—soreness.” As hard as he’s trying to act totally nonchalant, he’s starting to flinch away from Steve’s hands a little.

“Seems pretty painful right now,” Steve points out. Bucky just groans in response, and not the kind of groan Steve likes to hear, so he stops kneading the muscles, leaving his hands resting gently on Bucky’s shoulders. “Have you talked to Bruce about muscle relaxers?”

Bucky tips his head back to rest against Steve’s shoulder and Steve winds an arm around his waist. “They won’t work. Well, I’d have to take a fuck-ton to get any kind of benefit from them, and Bruce was a little worried about side-effects.”

Steve noses at the side of Bucky’s head. “Maybe Thor,” he suggests. “Asgard probably has something that would work.”

“Hm,” Bucky says noncommittally. Steve opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but he stops. It’s been almost eighteen years since Bucky escaped HYDRA, and he’s been slowly weaning himself off his anxiety medications for the last four years. It took a long time to find the right dosage and combination, considering his supersoldier metabolism, and he hated the process of getting it right. He still looks up every ingredient in every medication he takes.

Steve knows why. HYDRA kept him drugged to the gills as the Winter Soldier, and it’s not like they asked him beforehand if he was okay with it. But just because he understands it doesn’t mean he doesn’t wish Bucky would be a little more open when it means he’d be in less pain. Steve would never push him to take medication if he didn’t want to, but seeing Bucky in pain—even if he says it’s not really pain, just discomfort—isn’t something Steve likes to take lying down.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Bucky murmurs. “But I’d rather hurt a little and keep my head clear.”

Steve sighs a little before turning his head to kiss Bucky’s ear. “Okay,” he whispers. “I’ll quit worrying.”

Bucky huffs a little, leaning back more into Steve’s chest. “Believe that when I see it.”

  
“What are you guys doing on Saturday?” Grant asks one night at dinner.

Steve shrugs. “Hard to know if we’ll be working.”

“If we’re not saving the world, we might see a movie,” Bucky adds.

Grant laughs. “Remember when Time wanted to interview you guys about the exciting private lives of the noble superheroes? What a story.”

“If the movie’s not out too late we might even go get ice cream afterward,” Steve says.

“Well, you want to do something better than a movie?” Grant asks. “There’s a, uh. A rally?” He scratches the back of his neck. “Well, okay. It’s a protest.”

“Those mean pretty much the same thing to us,” Steve points out. “They were the same when we were your age.”

“Someone here went to quite a few rallies back then,” Bucky says with a raised eyebrow. “Couldn’t keep him away.”

Steve shrugs unashamedly. “Nothing wrong with making sure people’s voices are heard.”

“This a mutant rights protest?” Bucky asks. They’ve been to a few over the years, more in recent years as the situation heats up.

“Um.” Grant licks his lips. “It’s kind of a…specific one.” He looks nervous, and Steve and Bucky share a look. What kind of protest for equal rights would make him nervous? He knows they’re both on the mutant rights side of the equation.

“Well, what’s specific about it?” Bucky asks when he doesn’t say anything else.

“It’s for, uh.” Grant clears his throat, his whole face bright red. “Fighting the new bill the state legislature’s pushing. The non-mutant/mutant marriage ban.”

Bucky’s head snaps up from his plate. Steve’s mouth drops open a little. It’s certainly the type of protest they’d go to, but his awkwardness suggests there’s something more there. And it doesn’t take special training to figure that out.

“M-marriage?” Steve squeaks. “Is that—oh? Okay.” He nods a few times. “Yep.”

“Are you…well.” Bucky shrugs. “I didn’t. Well. Alright.”

Grant laughs a little, but it’s strained. “Well, I…I mean, I don’t know—it’s not. I just mean…”

Steve blows out a breath. “Why we don’t all breathe for a second so someone can get a whole sentence out?”

Grant looks down at his plate and Steve and Bucky look at each other, both wide-eyed. Sure, they know Grant and Marcela are dating—have been for a few months now—but thinking of marriage? Grant’s only twenty and Marcela’s only twenty-one. They’ve only been dating for two or three months.

Although…Bucky gives Steve a look. They have _known_ each other longer. They were friends for over a year before they started dating. And just because Steve and Bucky waited to get married until they were almost a hundred doesn’t mean everyone else has to, too.

“Are you…thinking about that?” Bucky asks. “Marriage?”

Grant hunches his shoulders a little. “Dunno,” he mutters.

“Well have you…” Steve shoots Bucky a look, shrugs a little. “Have you and Marcela talked about it at all?”

Grant runs a hand through his hair. “We’re young.”

“That’s true,” Bucky agrees neutrally.

“We haven’t been dating very long,” Grant adds.

“Also true,” Steve says, voice even.

“So you think it’s silly to be thinking about it?” Grant asks, shoulders slumping a little.

“Neither of us said that,” Steve points out, and Grant finally looks up.

“I woulda married Steve when we were twenty if we could’ve,” Bucky says, eyes soft as he smiles at Steve. Steve smiles back at him and shakes his head a little.

“If we could’ve,” he echoes, hooking an ankle around Bucky’s.

“We haven’t really talked about it,” Grant admits. “Just…sorta. Hints, maybe?”

“Well, maybe you should talk to her about it,” Steve suggests.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes at Steve. “Don’t just act weird for a whole day and then propose. Maybe I woulda said no. Maybe I didn’t want that sprung on me outta the blue.”

Steve rolls his eyes right back. “Please. We were already married except for the paper.”

“You try telling that to the Sisters,” Bucky says.

“I would never try telling the Sisters we were married at all,” Steve laughs.

“But what about your _soul_ , Steve Rogers?” Bucky does an impressive impersonation. “Fiery damnation!”

“James Barnes, that Rogers boy is dragging you down to fiery damnation!” Steve shoots back. That was a sentence they both heard often.

“I’m kind of having a crisis right now,” Grant points out, chin resting on one first, and for some reason this makes Steve and Bucky break out into giggles. Manful chuckles, maybe. Bucky always protests when someone says he giggles.

“Look, kid,” Bucky says seriously after they get themselves under control. “You picture your future and see her there with you?”

Grant’s blushing a little, but he nods.

“Is it concrete?” Steve presses. “Can you actually imagine it, or is it fuzzy and a maybe type thing?”

“I don’t know,” Grant says slowly. “I—I don’t know if I can tell the difference. You could actually imagine it when you thought about you guys together?”

Steve and Bucky glance at each other. “Well,” Bucky starts. “Things were a little different then.”

“Oh, yeah.” Grant winces. “Guess you didn’t really imagine being married.”

Steve smiles sadly. “When we were your age I didn’t actually imagine living past twenty-five at all. And after the serum, well…” He looks at Bucky.

“You imagined being married to Peggy and me as Uncle Bucky?” He guesses, no hint of bitterness. “That’s what I pictured for you. Kinda.”

Steve gives him a warning look, because he knows the big difference in their stories—Bucky had stopped envisioning a future for himself around the time Steve finally started. Bucky imagined Steve marrying Peggy and naming a kid after him, maybe, because he’d died in the war. He never imagined himself living through it.

“I just don’t know how to tell when you’re really in love with someone,” Grant tells them dejectedly. “I don’t want to be with anyone else, but how do I know we’re really perfect for each other?”

“I don’t know, kid,” Bucky confesses.

“You don’t _know_?” Grant repeats incredulously. “ _You_ don’t know?”

Steve shrugs. “Sorry,” he says. “After both of us dying and coming back to life and waking up in the future and finding each other…” He shrugs again. “Seemed like a no-brainer.”

“Oh, great,” Grant says sarcastically. “So I just have to hope the universe gives me a big huge sign like resurrecting us both?”

“It _is_ handy,” Bucky jokes. Grant blows out a frustrated breath and drops his head to the table. Steve makes a sad, fond face, and Bucky knows exactly what he’s thinking about—Grant has done this in times of despair since he was a little boy crying over having to go to bed. Bucky actually feels his throat getting a little right.

Once Grant gets married, he’ll _really_ not be their little boy anymore. And he hasn’t been for a while now, really, but still. It’ll be real. He’ll have a new family and they’ll be on the periphery of that instead of the center.

Bucky starts a little when Steve wraps an arm around his shoulder. Steve’s smiling at him when he looks up. “Getting emotional?” He whispers.

“Like you’re not?” Bucky retaliates, bumping his shoulder into Steve.

“Well,” Grant sighs, lifting up his head. “Marcela and I are seeing a movie tonight. Maybe I’ll…bring it up?”

“Good luck,” Steve says.

“Maybe do it after the movie,” Bucky suggests. Both Grant and Steve give him identical perturbed looks, and even after seventeen years, he still smiles at how similar they are. “I’m just saying, she might need some time to think it over, and you don’t want to ruin the movie.”

Grant goes a little pale and Bucky winces apologetically. He didn’t mean to be negative or make Grant nervous. But maybe a mean little part of him did mean that. For one thing, he can’t believe his son is old enough for this kind of thing. For another, part of him might be a little resentful that Grant’s getting this serious about the girl and they’ve only met her once.

That night, Steve’s rubbing Icy Hot into Bucky’s shoulder and Bucky’s fussing over Steve kneeling because his knee isn’t perfect anymore, and Steve starts to laugh, hunching over Bucky’s shoulder.

“What?” Bucky asks, laughing a little at the way Steve’s laughing but confused about why they’re laughing.

“We’re an old married couple,” Steve says, voice colored with amusement and a little wonder. “Our son was asking for advice on how to know if he’s found the one and we’re taking care of each other’s aches and pains. That’s—we’re a normal old married couple.”

“Well, yeah,” Bucky says. “That’s what happens, Stevie.”

Steve gives up on Bucky’s shoulder for a second and wraps his arms around Bucky’s waist, pressing his face into the side of Bucky’s neck not coated in Icy Hot. “Can you believe it, though? Buck, can you believe this is our life?”

Bucky can’t help the grin that takes over his face. He knows exactly what Steve means. Running around Brooklyn, two kids who had to hide everything, this kind of life wasn’t even a pipe dream—it wasn’t a dream at all. They never bothered thinking about it, picturing it, dreaming of it. Bucky twists around strokes a thumb over Steve’s cheekbone.

“I can’t,” he admits. “Sometimes I really can’t.”

They kiss for a little while, laughing a little, and Bucky’s just starting to get some ideas about other ways they could celebrate being an old married couple, when Steve reaches up to put a hand on Bucky’s face and catches the side of his eye.

Bucky shrieks and rears back, away from Steve’s Icy Hot-coated hands, because his eyes are stinging and watering.

“Sorry!” Steve cries, reaching like he’s going to help rub it out of Bucky’s eye, but stopping himself because his hands are the offenders here. Bucky stumbles to the bathroom to start flushing out his eye. Steve’s hovering anxiously behind him, dripping apologies, and Bucky starts cracking up laughing even through the tears streaming from his eye.

And old married couple, sure, but he’s pretty sure they’ll never be normal.

  
“So, the Avengers support mutant rights?” A reporter on-screen asks, gesturing at Steve, Bucky, Sam, Carol, and Rhodey.

“Of course we do,” Carol says firmly. “We work closely with the mutants pretty often. It would be hypocritical of us to benefit from their powers but deny them equal rights.” She says the last part pointedly, raising an eyebrow, because society at large has been doing just that. The camera focuses on Steve and Bucky.

“And Captain America and the Winter Soldier are fully on board?” She asks. Steve visibly winces a little at Bucky being called the Winter Soldier. “Could you have imagined during your time a protest for mutant rights?” Sam, off-screen, laughs a little, because somehow the public still manages to keep Steve in a conservative little box that isn’t true to him at all.

Steve shrugs. “We went to a lot of other protests during _our time_ ,” he says, air quotes almost visible. “Besides, I don’t think now is not our time. We live in this time.”

“It wasn’t too long ago our marriage was illegal,” Bucky points out. “And a lot of the same arguments are being used. It was wrong then and it’s wrong now.”

“But you should really talk to the organizers,” Steve adds. The camera cuts off.

“They didn’t even mention you,” Steve grumbles in their living room, watching the news story.

Will shrugs ruefully. “That happens a lot. At least your support might help.” He looks at his watch and waggles his eyebrows. “I gotta go. I have a date.”

“A date?” Steve asks. Bucky wolf-whistles and Will laughs as he stands up.

“One of the other organizers I met at the protest.”

“Dude, wear the green shirt!” Grant suggests from the couch. “It looks so good against your skin.”

“Got it,” Will agrees, fist bumping Grant as he walks past and patting Marcela on the head. Everyone calls out goodbyes and then Bucky looks at Grant and Marcela.

“What are you guys doing tonight?”

Grant shrugs. “Thought we’d stay in, hang out with you guys if you don’t care.”

“Like a double date?” Steve asks, glancing at Bucky, lips twitching.

“Is that weird?” Marcela asks.

Steve and Bucky look at each other silently for a minute, and then break out laughing. “It’s not weird,” Bucky reassures her. “We just—we had a joke, kind of—”

“Oh, gosh, we don’t have time for an explanation of one of your inside jokes,” Grant groans, leaning his head back against the couch. “They usually span a hundred years,” he tells Marcela.

“Well, this one came out of your first date. Remember that?” Bucky teases.

“Stop!” Grant cries, face heating up. Marcela raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, now I need to hear the story.”

“Really?” Steve asks. “You want to hear a tale of Grant’s utter humiliation?”

“Absolutely I do,” Marcela laughs.

Bucky grins. “You know what? I like you.”

Grant makes a face and Marcela teasingly pats his arm. “Don’t worry, I’ll still like you,” she promises. “Probably.”

“Oh, Grant didn’t do anything wrong,” Steve assures her quickly.

“No, it was definitely a girl who didn’t deserve Grant,” Bucky adds. They’ll tease him, sure, but they’re still loyal to their cores.

Marcela’s smile gets a little softer. “Well, then. I _definitely_ want to hear that.” She and Grant gaze at each other for a while, and Bucky rolls his eyes and looks at Steve. Steve shakes his head. _Goners_ , he mouths. Bucky fake-gags, and Steve laughs.

“You’re joking, right?” Grant interrupts them. “You are totally not mocking anyone else for being gross and sappy. You guys are the gold medal winners of the gross, sappy Olympics.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bucky asks. “We’re not sappy. I’ve never been sappy a day in my life.”

“We are gruff warriors,” Steve adds. Marcela laughs out loud and looks at Steve’s socks, which are fluffy and covered in butterflies because Lily knitted them for him.

“You guys practically don’t do anything else _but_ stare deeply into each other’s eyes,” Grant points out.

“I have never looked into Bucky’s eyes,” Steve says in his most serious Captain America voice.

“I don’t even know what color his eyes are,” Bucky chimes in. “What are they, green?”

Grant snorts and shakes his head. “Whatever.”

Grant starts telling Marcela the story of his first date who had a crush on Steve, and Steve and Bucky look at each other. Bucky hooks his ankle around Steve’s and Steve twines their fingers together. They don’t mind winning that gold medal. After everything they’ve been through, they figure they deserve it.


	22. Like rain on your wedding day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter took sooooo long! But here it is. Warning for schmoop, but also for canon-typical violence and descriptions of canon torture.

“Okay,” Grant says, wiping his hands on his pants for the fifth time in ten minutes. “I’m ready to go out there.”

Bucky straightens Grant’s bowtie while Steve smoothes down the cowlick at the back of their son’s head.

“Nothing to be nervous about,” Bucky reminds Grant. Grant nods vigorously.

“This is one of the happiest days of your life,” Steve adds. “Right?”

Grant nods again. He opens his mouth to say something, but only a little squeak comes out. Steve and Bucky are torn between laughing and crying. He’s twenty-two years old, a college graduate, looking sharp in a perfectly-tailored tux for his _wedding_ , but all they can see is the three-year-old who used to fall asleep in his dinner after long days and pick his nose relentlessly.

“It _is_ the happiest day of my life,” Grant finally says breathlessly. “But I still feel—” He gulps. “This isn’t like you guys. You’d already been together forever. You _knew_ for sure. What if…”

“Don’t,” Steve says gently. “You’re a smart guy. You make good decisions. Marcela’s smart and funny and beautiful and you guys love each other. If you were sure before and nothing major came up to change your mind, it’s just jitters. Playing _what if_ won’t help.”

“It’s normal to get cold feet,” Bucky assures him. When Grant looks down to fiddle with the buttons on his jacket, Bucky shrugs at Steve. _I heard that on TV_ , he mouths. Steve gives him a thumbs-up.

“Okay,” Grant breathes. “You’re right. You’re right; I know this is the right choice.”

“Okay,” Steve says cautiously. “Just remember that doesn’t mean things won’t be hard. Buck and I pretty much got literal signs from the universe and sometimes I still want to strangle him.”

Bucky snorts. “You want to _try_ to strangle me,” he corrects with a cocky grin. “You couldn’t actually do it.”

“Not now,” Grant cuts in as Steve opens his mouth to retaliate. “I know this is like, how you guys flirt or whatever, but I’m about to get married.”

“It’s true though,” Bucky says. “Don’t get lazy and think you won’t have to work for anything.”

“Now, I don’t know much about being married to a woman,” Steve admits. “Or to someone you haven’t known for as long as you can remember. But a pretty smart guy once told me that the most important thing you can do when you love someone is make sure they know how important they are to you. Don’t ever think she just knows. Show her as often as possible.”

“Okay,” Grant says. “Yeah.” He squares his shoulders and takes a deep breath. “I’m ready.” He heads out of the room and Bucky gives Steve a look.

“I don’t remember saying that.”

“You didn’t,” Steve says. “I never said it was you. Sam told me that. You think you’re a smart guy? Please, Buck.”

Bucky shoves him out the door.

  
Steve and Bucky stand to Grant’s left, watching him take deep breaths as they wait for Marcela to come through the back door and down the aisle. The front row of the audience is completely taken up by the Avengers. Thor’s daughters Lily and Tyra were flower girls, along with Marcela’s niece, and the ring bearer role was filled by a procession of robots, with Min-E carrying the ring.

Now they’re just waiting for Marcela to come out. Grant’s staring nervously at the closed door, like Marcela might have changed her mind and is never going to come out the door. But it opens, the string quartet Tony and Pepper vetted and hired plays Pachelbel’s Canon in D, and Marcela comes out arm-and-arm with her father.

Steve watches Grant’s face closely and watches the nerves melt away as soon as he sees Marcela. His eyes light up and he stops fidgeting with the bottom of his jacket. Steve glances at Bucky and can’t help but smile at the sight of Bucky fighting hard against the tears threatening to fall. Bucky’s always been an easy crier, and it’s not like this isn’t an emotional day. Steve slips an arm around Bucky’s waist and Bucky leans into him.

“She’s so beautiful,” Bucky murmurs, voice choked.

“She is,” Steve agrees.

Marcela’s father kisses her forehead and goes to sit next to her mother. Marcela takes Grant’s hand, and Steve feels his own throat start to get tight. Over the last two years, he’s gotten to know Marcela better and he’s happy to have her in their family. But it’s still a little bittersweet, seeing their son making a new family of his own.

Will is officiating the wedding, the ink on his license barely dry. He only got ordained for this very purpose, but he likes reminding everyone that he’s a minister now. He keeps his words pretty short and to the point, like Grant and Marcela asked him to, so they can get to their self-written vows.

“Grant,” Marcela says, squeezing both his hands. “The first time I saw you I thought, _who is this white boy and why is he trying to speak Spanish to me_?” A ripple of laughter goes through the audience, especially Marcela's family, who remember Grant's first choppy attempts at speaking Spanish. Everything he said was tinged in a Russian accent. “But then I got to know you. And your Spanish is great now. But mostly I know you’re one of the kindest, most loyal, and overall most stubborn men I have ever met.”

Bucky swipes at a tear that escaped his lashes. “Wonder where he gets that from,” he mutters to Steve. Steve just rolls his eyes.

“I know, no matter what happens, you’re not going to give up on me. And my vow is that I’m not going to give up on you, either. We’re both stubborn and we don’t back down. Sometimes that means we don’t eat dinner until 10:30 because we can’t agree on anything. But mostly it means we’re not going to let little things come between us. And that’s what’s going to make us last. I can’t wait to spend our whole lives together.” By the time Marcela finishes, she’s choked up, eyes shiny with tears, and Grant has to clear his throat a few times before he can start his own words.

“Marcela,” he starts, and Steve feels himself start to cry for real. Bucky huffs a little laugh at him but leans their heads together. “I want to be able to say I’ve known from the moment I met you that we were made for each other. But that would be a lie, and we don’t lie to each other. I’ve been worried and second-guessing through a lot of our relationship, actually. But you know what I realized? We don’t have to be made for each other. We’ve already made compromises for each other, and we’re going to keep doing that. We’re going to grow together and get stronger. It doesn’t matter if we were made for each other, because we chose each other. And I was freaking out a little back there, and my parents made me realize that choosing each other once isn’t enough. So I guess my vow is that I’m going to keep choosing you, every day, forever.”

Steve and Bucky are both openly weeping by the end of Grant’s vows, and Steve can see Tony snapping pictures and he doesn’t even care. “Damn, we got a good kid,” he chokes out to Bucky, who laughs wetly and nods.

“D-don’t know who taught him all that,” he says, breaths hitched.

“Alright, we better hurry up and get those rings on before your parents dissolve in a puddle of their own tears,” Will teases. Grant and Marcela turn to look at Steve and Bucky. Marcela’s parents are misty-eyed but composed. Maybe it has something to do with this being their fourth child to get married. Marcela smiles fondly at Steve and Bucky, but Grant starts crying. Marcela pats his cheek lovingly.

“Oh, pobrecito,” she laughs. “I didn’t know you got it from them. I just thought you cried a lot.” Maybe it’s not just the many weddings her parents have been to keeping them from crying after all. Steve and Bucky never would have thought they’d be considered an emotional family, but here they are.

“And I heard men from their generation weren’t in touch with their feelings,” Sam mutters just loud enough for everyone to hear, even though he’s got tears in his own eyes, too.

“They didn’t cry at _my_ wedding,” Rhodey grouses.

“Alright, alright,” Bucky groans, using the heels of his hands to brush away his tears. “Get on with it, kid,” he says to Will.

“Bucky actually _did_ cry at your wedding,” Steve corrects. “I think he’s cried at every wedding he’s ever been to.” Bucky rolls his eyes at the crowd _aww_ s at him.

“Alright, let’s leave Bucky alone,” Will says mildly. Bucky salutes him. “Get those rings going,” Will orders. There’s a slight delay while Min-E malfunctions slightly and refuses to let go, and Tony rolls his eyes and hisses _well maybe if someone had been bringing him in for tune-ups this wouldn’t be happening_ , but then Grant gets both rings free.

“Alright,” Will says after both rings are in place on Grant and Marcela’s fingers. “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife! Kiss!”

Everyone cheers while Grant and Marcela grin into their kiss, and then they turn to face the crowd. Steve and Bucky have mostly gotten themselves under control by now, since the vows part of the whole day is over, and rush forward to be the second to hug the happy couple, after Will who totally cheated by being the minister.

The reception was full of dancing and people fondly laughing at Steve and Bucky for falling apart during the ceremony.

“I don’t want to hear a word, Stark,” Bucky grouses. “I saw you sniffling.”

“I have allergies,” Tony protests.

Grant and Marcela are just starting to gather everyone together to cut the cake when Marcela’s grandmother gasps loudly, pressing a hand to her heart.

“Abuela?” Marcela asks, rushing forward. “What is it?”

“Centinelas,” Abuela murmurs.

“Sentinels?” Marcela asks, glancing with wide, scared eyes at Professor Xavier.

Everything is quiet for a minute, hushed with shock, and then the room explodes with confusion and fear.

“Is this a future thing?” Bucky asks. Marcela shakes her head.

“She’s a hyperacusic,” Marcela says grimly. “She can hear things up to ten miles away.”

“I thought all the Sentinels were destroyed,” Steve says, looking at Professor Xavier, who purses his lips and shakes his head.

“They still had their prototypes.”

“But they’re not government authorized,” Maria Hill says, jabbing at a tablet and appearing at Steve’s elbow. “I think it must be some anti-mutant vigilante or something.”

Professor X moves off by himself to search for the mind of whoever’s controlling the Sentinels. Bucky turns to Steve and the other gathered Avengers.

“How many weapons do we have? I’ve got two handguns, six knives, and a rifle stashed in the back. Steve’s shield is back there, too.”

“Don’t have my wings,” Sam says, shaking his head. “But I’ve got a sidearm and a pocket knife.”

“I can call the suit,” Rhodey reports.

"I'll go air support," Carol points out.

“Two handguns, my Widow’s Bites, barbed wire, the usual,” Natasha rattles off.

“I don’t have a gauntlet,” Tony says, sounding dazed. They’ve been working toward changing over the Avengers to the younger generation, but this is the first big emergency they’ve had that’s a real all-hands-on-deck situation; Kate’s the only Young Avenger they’ve got here, with the rest of the team on a mission in Latveria.

“How many Sentinels are we talking?” Steve asks Marcela, who confers with her grandmother.

“At least twenty.”

Steve curses. “Clint, Kate, you got bows?”

“In the car,” Clint says, already moving out with Kate at his side.

“Tony, you’re in charge of getting civilians out of here,” Steve orders.

“What should I do?” Grant asks.

“Get the hell out of here,” Bucky says. “You and Marcela and Will. Out. With everyone else.”

“No way,” Grant protests. “I’m fighting, too.”

“You’re not,” Steve says firmly. “It’s your wedding day.”

“And they’re ruining it!” Marcela points out angrily. “Besides, this is more my fight than yours.”

Steve purses his lips. She is right on that part; an anti-mutant attack is more personal for all the mutants present. He looks at Bucky, who looks equally as unhappy.

“Will you at least let us check out the situation first?” Bucky asks. “We’re not taking you out of the fight. But we do know a little more about battle than you.”

“Fine,” Will agrees.

“Grant, you need a weapon,” Steve says tersely. Bucky deliberates for a second, then pulls his Glock from his hip and hands it over.

“You sure ain’t getting my rifle,” he mutters. He gives Tony his pistol so he at least has some kind of weapon.

Tony, Pepper, and Sam are corralling civilians out of the reception hall. Thor’s out front with Mjolnir, waiting for any sign of trouble, with Bruce in front of him a few feet from the building, ready to bring out the Hulk when he needs to.

The only people left in the reception hall when Steve and Bucky get back from the back room with Steve’s shield and Bucky’s rifle are Avengers and mutants—including Marcela’s eighty-seven-year-old abuela.

Bucky gives Marcela a look. “Really?”

Marcela shrugs. “She’s a mutant. She’s not going to leave.”

They don’t bother arguing. She’s the one who heard the approach to give them a head’s up; Marcela already pointed out the high stakes for the mutants.

“Professor?” Steve calls. “What do you want us to do?”

“I can’t find the mind of whoever’s controlling them,” Professor Xavier says tersely. “They’re blocking me somehow.”

“Magneto?” Steve asks carefully. Professor Xavier shakes his head.

“This isn’t how Erik does things,” he says. Steve shoots a little glance at Bucky. They’ve heard…things…about the relationship between Magneto and Professor Xavier, and even though the circumstances were entirely different, he can’t help but think of the hellicarrier. “The Sentinels are a pointed attack against mutants. Erik wouldn’t be happy about a mutant and non-mutant wedding, but it wouldn’t be the mutants he’d be targeting.”

“You’re saying he’d go for Grant?” Bucky asks tightly. Professor Xavier hesitates a little, and Bucky’s glare deepens.

“But it’s not Magneto,” Steve breaks in, trying to keep them on track even though he’s harboring his own ill will toward Magneto now.

“So we don’t know who it is,” Professor Xavier concludes regretfully.

“Well, we can deal with that later,” Bucky says decisively. “For now we’ve got some robots to take down.”

They set up a perimeter around the area as the ground begins to shake from the big, lumbering robots. There’s not much Professor X can do in this situation, really, with his own powers, since the robots don’t have minds and he can’t reach whoever’s controlling them, but he’s a steady, soothing presence, especially for the younger mutants still in his school, and keeping them calm enough to harness their abilities is essential.

Steve and Bucky are sticking close to Grant, Marcela, and Will. “They don’t even have armor,” Bucky mutters fretfully. They’re quite a sight, all of them, dressed up for the wedding, but Marcela probably takes the cake—she’s still in her wedding dress, the train pinned up behind her.

“Or super healing,” Steve agrees. “But we’ll cover them, Buck, you know we will.”

The robots don’t exactly go down easily. They’re huge and armored. Bucky tries to take as many out from as far away as possible, but they keep rolling forward. Kate and Clint have exploding arrows, and Rhodey’s in the suit flying and shooting repulsors, but the most effective by far besides Thor shooting lightning at the things is a classmate of Will’s named Anderson who can shoot corrosive acid from his mouth.

“Boy, that would make kissing him interesting,” Bucky says, voice awed.

“Eh,” Marcela says with a shrug. “Not really.” Will laughs so hard he accidentally blasts a fireball at a building instead of the robot to the left of the building, and Steve has to hurl his shield to smother it.

“Okay, we should focus on the robots,” Will says sheepishly.

The problem comes, of course, when they get separated. It seems like they’re doing fine against the robots; no one’s gotten hurt so far, and the stream of robots is dwindling. It’s not an especially well-coordinated or executed attack.

But then Steve turns just in time to see Clint get pinned under the dismembered, still moving hand of one of the Sentinels.

“Clint!” He yells.  
  
“Go,” Bucky orders. “I’ll cover you.”

Steve rushes to help Clint free himself from the massive piece of metal that must be crushing him, but it leaves a little hole in their defensive structure. Kate’s covering Clint and Steve from her angle, but she’s running out of arrows. Sam saw Clint get pinned, too, and he rushes out to assess the damage. But Sam doesn’t have his wings, or his armor, or even any kind of first aid kit, and Bucky can feel his heartbeat start to pick up.

“I’m covering them,” he tells the kids tersely. “You need to keep eyes forward and keep our position clear.”

“Okay,” Grant says, voice a little faint as he looks at Clint’s ashen face.

“Eyes forward,” Bucky repeats, a little harsher than he’d normally be but not rally repentant about it. Grant wanted to come into battle. This is how it goes. Grant shakes himself a little and turns away from the scene Bucky’s eyes are trained on.

Bucky’s antsy. He’s watching Steve, Sam, and Clint, making sure they’re safe, but he’s trying to keep his ears trained on Grant, Marcela, and Will. His attention’s being torn in half. He can’t let go of one group to completely focus on the other. Steve hands Sam his shield so he can use his super strength to lift the hand off Clint. Grant fires another round at a robot. Bucky’s nerves are shot.

The Glock in Grant’s hand clicks. Empty. Bucky swears. He gave Tony his pistol. That leaves them with his rifle, his knives, and Will’s fire. Knives aren’t going to be any help against robots. He blinks sweat out of his eyes and keeps watching Steve.

“Papa,” Grant says shakily. “I’m out.”

“I know.” Bucky keeps his voice level. “Will, you’re keeping our position safe. I’ve got to cover Steve and Sam and Clint. Kate’s only got a few arrows left and Sam and Clint don’t have any kind of protection at all.”

He squeezes off a shot at another dismembered hand. Great, so even if they take down the robots, the individual pieces will keep up the fight. Just the kind of battle he was hoping to get into on his son’s wedding day.

“Holy shit,” he hears Will breathe behind him.

“What?” He barks.

“There’s—I don’t—six of them?” Will’s trying to keep himself calm, but Bucky can hear panic under his words. They’re just kids. None of them have been in any kind of firefight like this. He swears again. He was supposed to keep them safe.  
  
And Steve’s still struggling with that hand holding Clint down. It’s wedged under the side of a building. He’s working on ripping the stuck finger off, but he doesn’t have much to work with. Sam’s talking to Clint, and Bucky can hear his soothing tone in his brain from all the times he had to talk Bucky down when he first got back.

“Take my rifle and help Will with those ones,” Bucky commands, handing it to Grant. “I’ve got to go help Steve get Clint free.”

“But who’ll be covering you?” Grant asks.

Bucky shrugs. “I’ll figure it out.”  
  
“Papa,” Grant protests, eyes wide.

“Clint is stuck under that thing, and he has normal-strength bones that are being crushed right now,” Bucky snaps. “He and Steve and Sam are vulnerable right now. My arm can rip through the metal without getting hurt. Steve’s can’t. The faster we get them free, the faster we can all take cover. Will cannot take down six of these things by himself. You have four rounds left. If there’s anything left after you’re safe, you can turn around and cover us. Got it?”

“Okay,” Grant says, sounding a little dazed. Bucky’s never ordered him around like this. This isn’t the Winter Soldier—this is Sergeant Barnes, kicking new recruits in the ass to get them doing what they have to. He makes sure to look at all three kids in turn.

“Take care of each other.”

He sets off, eyes set on Steve. He slams his metal fist into the center of a moving hand, and it stops moving. Good to know. He gets to Steve and punches through the metal finger, making everyone hiss at the horrible metal-on-metal screech. Clint cries out a little in pain, because Bucky’s not exactly being delicate.

“Sorry, sorry,” Bucky murmurs, trying to work faster.

“Just get it off me,” Clint gasps. Steve’s got a shoulder under the bulk of the hand, taking as much weight as possible while Bucky works it free, and his teeth are gritted with the effort.

“Grant?” He manages to get out.

Bucky shakes his head a little. “My rifle. Will’s fire. They had six coming at ‘em.”  
  
“Shit,” Steve hisses.

Sam gets the shield up in time to keep a flurry of sparks off himself and Clint.

“Sorry,” Bucky repeats.

“No apologies necessary,” Sam assures him in that all-too-familiar soothing voice, lowering the shield to put some pressure on a trickle of blood at the top of Clint’s thigh.

Finally, Bucky separates the rest of the hand from the pinky finger stuck on the building, and he and Steve heave the whole thing away. Clint feebly starts to press his hands into the ground like he's going to pull himself to his feet.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” Sam asks sternly.

“Is it safe to move him?” Steve asks.

“We don’t have much choice,” Bucky reports grimly. They’ve got a hand and a full robot coming their way, and no bullets. Kate takes out the hand with a well-placed arrow, but one isn’t enough for the full robot. Steve curses and deliberates for a second before putting an arm under Clint’s back and one under his good leg.

“This is going to hurt like hell,” he warns.

“Go,” Clint breathes, sweat running down his face. He screams when Steve lifts him, but grits his teeth and tries to stay quiet as they make their way back to Kate’s position. The second Steve sets him down, Sam sets to work. He doesn’t have much to work with, but he uses a crumpled sheet of metal ripped from a robot to brace his leg.

“How you doing on arrows?” Steve asks Kate.

“I’ve only got two exploding ones left,” she says, biting her lip as she looks down at Clint. Before Bucky can snap at her to keep her head up, Natasha rounds the corner. Her steps don’t even falter when she sees Clint, but her face shows her shock for a second before she shutters it closed.

“The Widow’s Bites power down the robots,” she says. “How many arrows do you guys have left?”

“Only two exploding,” Kate repeats.

“But what about any other kinds?” Natasha presses.

“Wrap the Bites around and fire them?” Steve asks. Natasha nods.

“We’re almost clear on the other side, so I thought I’d come see how this party’s shaping up.” Her tone is teasing, but her eyes are focused on the damage to Clint’s leg.

“Got any bullets left?” Bucky asks. She offers him her gun and he shakes his head. “Keep it. We gotta get back to the kids.”

They’re ducking around rubble to get back to their first position when they see the guy in the metal helmet. It’s not Magneto, they know that, but he must’ve picked up some ideas from the news footage so Professor Xavier couldn’t get to his mind and control him. Normally, Steve and Bucky would do their best to bring him in as unscathed as possible to bring him to justice.

But Clint’s in bad shape, and this guy’s currently directing a horde of robots at Grant, Will, and Marcela, yelling, "All mutants and mutant-lovers will die!" He’s got a remote of some kind, and there are at least forty robots careening for the kids. Grant turns, overwhelmed, and sees them running toward him, but he sees they don’t have any guns and his face falls.

Bucky doesn’t even stop moving—just pulls a knife and throws it, burying it between the guy’s shoulder blades, while Steve starts in on the robots with his shield. The guy drops, and Grant’s eyes widen as he watches Steve and Bucky wreak havoc through the robots. Steve takes out one with the shield and then punches the head right off another, slicing up his entire hand. He doesn’t even slow down. Bucky rips through them, the shriek of his arm meeting the robots joining the clang of Steve’s shield going to work. The robots aren’t being directed anymore, but they’re still on a collision course for the kids, and there’s too many of them coming.

“Get down!” Marcela yells. “Take cover.”

Will and Grant both look terrified, and Marcela’s just standing there, white dress stained with soot and singed from her proximity to Will. Grant and Will both run away from her, and then she takes a deep breath and stomps a foot on the ground.

It feels like the whole ground ripples. A blast emanates from Marcela, toppling robots and the already-precarious building to their left. Steve and Bucky are both thrown from their feet, and Grant and Will are knocked unconscious.

Bucky’s ears are ringing harshly and Steve clutches at his head, trying to stagger up to his feet. Bucky almost can’t tell when he can hear again, because the quiet in the absence of the robots is so stark in contrast to the noise of battle.

He and Steve check each other over, making sure they’re not hurt, while Marcela runs to Grant and Will.

“Wow,” Steve whispers. In almost three years of knowing her, they'd never found out what her abilities were until just now. It's not hard to understand why she doesn't exactly whip them out like a party trick.

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees.

They manage to get to her as Will and Grant are groaning and blinking awake. _Hold still_ , Bucky signs. There’s no way their hearing’s back yet, and he starts to worry about Grant. Could the blast have impacted his implant for his deaf ear? It's so close to his brain--the doctors told them head injuries could be made worse because of it.

Marcela’s trembling as she drops to her knees beside the boys. “It was the only way I could think of,” she says quietly.

“You did a great job,” Steve promises her, rubbing her back.

The rest of the day is a blur of cameras, cleanup, and medical attention. Bucky won’t let Steve go without getting his hand at least looked at, to make sure there aren’t any metal shards or anything embedded in it, and Will and Grant both have to get checked out after being knocked unconscious.

But they need to have a sit-down chat. Steve and Bucky have really prided themselves on the effort they’ve put into talking things over with Grant, and they both know all too well the dangers of bottling things up after a battle. Especially when Grant saw Bucky literally kill a man right before his eyes.

“Is Marcela with her parents?” Steve asks, watching the way Grant’s got his hands clasped tightly together between his knees. Grant nods.

“She’s gonna come over here in about an hour.” No one says anything for a minute. Grant hasn’t looked up from the floor.

“So.” Bucky sighs. “You saw me kill someone today.”

Grant lets out a harsh breath. “Yeah.”

“I did what I had to do to protect you,” Bucky says. “But I’m sorry you had to see it.”

“You didn’t even slow down,” Grant murmurs. “It didn't even _phase_ you. How many times have you done that?”

Bucky swallows hard. “I honestly don’t know, Grant.”

“You don’t know because you’ve killed too many people to count?” Grant asks harshly, raising his head to stare at Bucky. Bucky winces.

“He doesn’t know because they wouldn’t let him remember,” Steve shoots back angrily. Bucky lays a hand on his arm.

“Steve,” he murmurs.

“He’s not gonna talk to you like that.” Steve looks at Grant. “You have no idea what he went through. You don’t know what it was like. He didn’t get to choose the skills they gave him, but he chooses how to use them now.” Grant’s eyes are wide and his breathing hitches. Steve’s never snapped at him like that.

“It’s our fault he doesn’t know,” Bucky points out quietly. “My fault, mostly. I didn’t want…” He sighs. “I didn’t want you to worry about it. Or have nightmares.”

“I know they hurt you,” Grant says slowly. “But I don’t get…”

“How they could make me kill people?” Bucky forces out an ugly smile. Steve grabs his hand and Bucky squeezes his fingers. “Well, do you really want to know?”

Grant hesitates for a second, then nods. “Yes. If—” He falters a little, eyes skipping over to Steve for a second. “If you want to tell me.”

“I’m sorry I snapped at you,” Steve says, knowing where Grant’s hesitance is coming from.

“I wasn’t trying to be…I wasn’t saying Papa’s bad,” Grant promises, voice trembling a little.

“I know you weren’t,” Bucky assures him. “You know how protective your dad gets.” He looks at Steve for a minute before turning back to Grant. “You know they tortured me?”

Grant cringes. “Yeah.”

Bucky bites his lip, nodding slowly. “Well. You know they put this arm on me. And I think you learn in school about the brainwashing. That’s how they phrase it, right? Tortured and brainwashed? But they don’t tell you, uh.” He stops for a second and breathes. “They don’t you it was the same thing. I don’t really like the word brainwashed. Makes it sound like they were making my mind clean, but…well. They wiped my memory. That’s what they mean by brainwashed. They wiped my memory and they told me I was keeping people safe by stopping wars. But the way they wiped my memory—” He breaks off again. Two decades later, and he can still barely get the words out. Steve squeezes his hand tighter. “They electrocuted me, basically. My brain. And that’s how they wiped out my memories.”

Grant’s face is frozen in horror. “What do you…?”

“There was a chair.” Bucky’s eyes slide out of focus. It’s easier if he doesn’t look at Grant’s face when he says it. “And they’d strap me in. And then these—these _things_ would come down and hook up to either side of my head. And they’d turn it on and just…wipe it all out. Then they’d put me on ice until my next mission.” He shakes his head a little. Grant knows about the cryo. Sort of. He knows Bucky was frozen between missions.

“They electrocuted you until you were unconscious?” Grant asks, voice thick.

Bucky thinks about lying. It would be better if the chair had knocked him out. But he shakes his head. “I was awake when they put me in the tank.”

Grant looks like he’s going to be sick. So does Steve, and he already knows all this, has read it in clipped, clinical notes in Bucky’s file, has heard Bucky screaming about it in the middle of the night. “You froze alive?” Grant asks. Bucky nods.

“I got the chair after missions. And I got the chair any time I—” He bites down on the word _malfunctioned_. “Wasn’t acting how they wanted me to act.” He can hear Steve’s breathing picking up. Steve knows what Bucky was going to say.

“He fought it,” Steve says, sounding proud the way Bucky always has a hard time accepting. “They had to wipe him more because he was too strong. Kept going against their orders.”

Grant swipes a hand across his nose, crying hard now. “But that—that just means they hurt you more.”

Bucky gives him a wry little smile. “It might not seem like something to get excited about. But you gotta take whatever wins you can find, and knowing I at least made it harder on them’s a win to me.”

Grant doesn’t say anything for a long time and Bucky focuses on deep breathing. There’s another reason he was always hesitant to tell Grant. Not everyone believes that Bucky is the victim here. Bucky himself had a hard time with that and the guilt he felt. What if his son can never look at him the same again? The bully Grant fought in middle school dredged up some of these feelings, but they haven’t really dealt with any of this since.

Steve rubs his thumb along Bucky’s soothingly. “It takes a lot for Bucky to go out there and fight,” he says softly. “But he does it to protect people.”

“That guy wanted to kill me,” Grant says. “And you saved me.”

“HYDRA wanted to kill you,” Steve points out. “And he saved you then, too.”

“And that was right after you were safe again,” Grant realizes. His face crumples. “Papa,” he breathes. “I felt bad shooting a _robot_. I don’t know if I could ever do it again and no one even made me do anything. And you go out to keep people safe and you...”

“That’s not a bad thing you feel that way,” Bucky manages to get out around the lump in his throat. “I don’t want you to ever have to do it again. And Steve, quit talking like you don’t do anything. You do just as much as I do and you don’t like it any more than I do.”

“Dad,” Grant says, turning to Steve. “You ripped a robot apart with your _bare hands_. You could—could you do that to a person?”

Steve looks uncomfortable. “Well.”

Grant’s eyes go wide. “You have?”

“This is what I was made for, Grant. They gave me this body to fight. And I’d rather not kill people, but I’ve done it a lot. In a lot of different ways.” He looks tired then, weary of the decades he’s spent fighting. It’s easier when he and Bucky are together, but both of them are still so exhausted from so many battles.

Grant thinks that over, and Bucky leans into Steve so they can rest their heads together.

“I guess it’s just…” He wipes away at the tears on his face. “You’re both so—so strong and so…so…you can _destroy_ people. And you never even _yelled_ at me that much.”

“There’s a difference between our job and our life, Grant,” Steve says quietly.

“We wanted there to be,” Bucky agrees.

Grant scrubs his face with his hands. “This is a lot to take in,” he says with a watery little chuckle. He looks up and catches the look on their faces—thinly-veiled worry, apprehension, fear that he won’t want to be around them, especially now that he’s an adult and married.

But there’s a part of him that’s still that little boy with a pouting lower lip, and he does now what he always used to do then—he launches himself at them. It’s a bigger impact now, and Bucky _oof_ s as he catches an elbow to the stomach, but Steve and Bucky open their arms and catch him.

“I love you,” Grant whispers. “I’m glad you’re my dads.”

And Steve and Bucky, well. It’s been an emotional roller-coaster of a day. They both let loose and cry a little. After a minute, they all straighten up, wiping at their eyes and blushing a little, because they can cry and be emotional but they’re usually embarrassed about it.

“So, Marcela’s coming over soon?” Steve asks.

“Yeah, and then we’re, uh. Well, we missed our flight.” Grant says.

Their flight. For their honeymoon. It seems impossible the wedding was just hours ago.

“We can book a new one,” Bucky suggests. “Or you can take one of Tony’s jets. Hey, that’d be fun, huh? Whole jet to yourselves.”

“I don’t know.” Grant shrugs. “It seems weird to go on a honeymoon now.”

“What?” Steve asks. “Why?”

Grant rolls his red, puffy eyes. “Dad. We almost died today.”

“But you didn’t,” Bucky points out. “Remember what I said about taking your wins when you can find ‘em?”

“You got married today,” Steve says. “You deserve a honeymoon.”

Grant lets out a breath in a huff. “I don’t know,” he repeats. “I guess we’ll talk about it.”

They talk a little more while they wait for Marcela, but it’s light, avoiding anything serious or deep. When Marcela comes in, she drops down into Grant’s lap and rests her head against his collar bone.

“Your folks alright?” Bucky asks.

“Oh, they’re hysterical,” Marcela sighs. “I thought Mama was going to have a heart attack.”

“It’s scary to almost lose your kid,” Steve says sympathetically.

“Never want to let ‘em out of your sight again,” Bucky adds.

There’s a knock on the door that takes them all by surprise.

“Sirs, it is the Avengers,” Jarvis reports.

Steve lets them in. It’s everyone, with Natasha holding a little screen with Clint on the other end down in medical. Tony’s wheeling in a table with a wedding cake on it and Sam's carrying a stack of plates. Bruce has the forks, and Rhodey has some drinks.

“You didn’t get to cut your cake,” Pepper explains sadly.

“Where did you get a new wedding cake?” Steve asks.

“We know people,” Tony says.

“Let us cut the cake,” Thor suggests. “We should return this day to the happy occasion it was before the unfortunate battle.”

“Wow,” Marcela whispers, tears gathering in her eyes.

“Call your parents,” Bucky tells her. “Grant, call Will. His parents should come, too. I bet they don’t want to be apart from him, either.”

They gather their family and the friends they count close enough to be family in the Avengers common room, and they cut the cake and everyone claps and cheers as Grant and Marcela feed each other. It doesn’t matter that no one’s dressed up anymore or that Clint, high on painkillers, starts singing the theme from Dog Cops halfway through, quickly joined by Thor's daughters and Darcy, who has no excuse except that she likes the song.

What matters is they all made it, and they’re together, and they get to keep making each other happy.


	23. My Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, you guys. This is it. This is the end. Thank you everyone for reading and commenting and drawing art and caring! I got pretty emotional writing this chapter. (Partially because it is 100% gooey, cheesy sap.) I may be writing little ficlets/timestamps and taking requests for ficlets and timestamps, but I probably won't put them here on ao3, but they'll be up on [my tumblr.](http://biblionerd07.tumblr.com)

“Steve!” Bucky hollers, throwing open the doors to the gym.

“Buck, what?” Steve asks, taking in the frantic state of Bucky’s hair and how he’s only got one shoe on.

“We gotta get to the hospital right now. Grant called,” Bucky reports. Steve drops his shield with a heavy _clang_. Kate shoots him with a training arrow right in the heart. He brushes the arrow away absent-mindedly.

“Okay,” he breathes. “Okay, okay, okay. Um. Okay.”

“Forward march, Captain,” Bucky orders.

“Right. You need a shoe, Sergeant,” Steve points out. Bucky blinks down at his feet.

“Oh.”

They get themselves straightened out—Bucky puts on his other shoe, and Steve changes out of his uniform into jeans and a t-shirt, and Bucky combs his hair—and rush to the car. Bucky wanted to steal a pair of Sam’s training wings, but Steve pointed out that neither of them know how to land and ending up _in_ the hospital rather than _at_ the hospital isn’t the goal.

Steve swears as traffic stalls. “How long ago did he call?”

Bucky glances down at his phone. “An hour now.”

“An hour?” Steve groans. “They’ve already been there an hour?”

“They’ve been there longer than that,” Bucky says grimly. “Grant said they’d already been there two hours and were just barely getting admitted.”

“They had to sit in the waiting room for _two hours_?” Steve asks indignantly. “Should’ve used the Tower’s med bay.”

“We’re not in charge of their lives,” Bucky reminds him. It's something they have to remind each other periodically, when Grant was choosing his law school or when Marcela decided not to go to grad school or when they didn't want money from Steve and Bucky to put a down payment on a house.

“I know,” Steve argues, honking at the slow cab in front of them. “I’m just saying.”

It takes almost another entire hour to get to the hospital, and they’re both on edge when they get to the nurse’s station and try to find their kids.

“Room 413,” the nurse tells them. They’re already rushing away from her when she calls out, “Go down a floor!”

“Thank you, ma’am!” Steve tosses over his shoulder without slowing down. They take the stairs. Technically, they’re both nearing sixty, but they’re still faster than the elevator.

They’re trying their hardest not to sprint down the hall, but they’re not really succeeding. They’re caught in a cycle of accidentally spurring each other faster, because Steve keeps catching how anxious Bucky looks and speeding up and vice versa.

But finally, they’re in front of room 413, and they take a second to calm themselves down before they hurtle into the room. Steve reaches out and tucks a strand of Bucky’s hair behind his ear.

“It’s going to be fine,” he says.

“Of course it is,” Bucky agrees. “Medicine these days is incredible.”

“Right,” Steve says. “Nothing to worry about.”

But they still hesitate a little, because hospitals aren’t either of their favorite place, and Bucky reaches over and takes Steve’s hand, giving it a firm squeeze before knocking quietly and pushing the door open.

“Hi!” Grant greets them, tears all over his face. “Hi, you’re here.”

“We’re here,” Steve says. “Sorry it took so long.”

“It’s okay,” Grant assures them. He’s sitting on the bed next to Marcela, who looks exhausted but happy. Her hair is plastered to her forehead with sweat, which her mother is wiping away with a wet cloth. Her father is holding the little bundle Grant hasn’t taken his eyes off, even when his parents came in the room.

Jaime grins at them and turns his body so they can see better. “Hello, grandpapas,” he says in a high-pitched voice. Steve hears Bucky’s breath stutter away.

“Oh,” Steve breathes.

“She’s so tiny,” Bucky chokes out.

“Easy for you to say,” Marcela grumbles. “Didn’t feel so tiny an hour ago.”

“Everything’s good?” Steve asks, remembering far too many nights his mother came home from helping someone in the neighborhood, exhausted and sad because the woman or the baby or both had had a hard time and didn’t make it or wouldn’t, maybe, by the time the night was through.

“Perfect,” Marcela promises. “No problems at all. The telepath kept my abilities blocked so I couldn’t kill everyone.”

Guadalupe gives her a dirty look. “That joke isn’t as funny as you think it is.”

The baby starts to cry and Jaime looks down at her, murmuring in Spanish too fast for Steve to follow. “Maybe she wants to try her other granddaddies, huh?” Jaime asks, grinning. He hasn’t stopped smiling the whole time they’d been there. He offers the baby to Steve.

Steve feels flustered. He’s never held a baby that small. Grant, obviously, had been a toddler when they brought him home. Thor and Jane had their daughters on Asgard and Steve didn’t hold either of them until they were at least a month old. She just looks so fragile.

“It’s okay,” Jaime soothes, settling her tiny little body in Steve’s hand. This is Jaime and Guadalupe’s sixth grandchild. They’re pros. “Just hold her head like this.”

“Hi,” Steve whispers down at her. “I’m your grandpa Steve.” He looks up at Bucky, tears in his eyes but laughing a little. “Natasha’s so happy that nickname is real now.”

Bucky is completely mesmerized. He can’t take his eyes off her, with her scrunched up little nose and her wild tufts of dark hair and the bow of her lips. Steve’s pretty sure that’s Bucky’s mouth in miniature there on her tiny face.

Grant’s smiling, too, and he pulls out his phone to get a picture of the three of them. Bucky’s got an arm around Steve’s back and one finger stretched out to touch the baby’s soft cheek. She reaches out and catches his finger in her hand, and Bucky lets out a little huff of air.

“She’s perfect,” he murmurs, voice thick. He’s been crying practically since they walked in the door.

“Did you name her yet?” Steve asks.

Grant nods. “Ekaterina Anjelica Navarro Barnes-Rogers.”

Bucky laughs. “Oh, you poor little thing,” he coos. “That’s terrible.”

Grant shrugs, a little sheepish. “We had a lot to fit in there.” Ekaterina is the woman who carried Grant, who gave birth to him and then took him from HYDRA and ran with him for the first two years of his life. Anjelica was Marcela’s grandmother’s name, and the last three are their last names.

“We’ll name the next one after all you guys,” Marcela promises.

“You’re already thinking about another one?” Steve asks.

“Oh, sure,” Marcela says. “Three or four years down the line, when I’ve gotten my voice back after all the screaming I did today.”

“We’ll probably call her Kat,” Grant says.

“Our little gato,” Guadalupe laughs.

Steve lifts Kat up to his face and kisses her forehead. “Want a turn?” He asks Bucky. He can see the same terror flit onto Bucky’s face he’d felt, but Bucky glances at his metal arm. Bucky has complete control over it, of course, and he raised Grant, but Kat is _tiny_ and Steve can see Bucky thinking of all the pain and destruction he caused with the appendage, not wanting to bring that anywhere near this perfect, fragile little thing.

“You won’t hurt her,” Steve whispers. He settles her against Bucky’s chest and melts a little at the sight. He pulls out his own phone to take a picture.

“Will should be back soon,” Grant says. “He went to get some coffee.”

“And probably to call everyone he knows,” Marcela says, rolling her eyes affectionately.

“Well, everyone’s waiting,” Steve tells them. “As soon as you’re ready, they’re gonna pounce. Sam’s been buying empty picture frames for weeks.”

“I think Tony’s already made a robot for her,” Bucky says. “And Natasha and Thor’s girls have been knitting. And Thor’s been knitting.”

“Bucky’s been knitting,” Steve adds.

“Steve’s been knitting,” Bucky counters.

“We’ve all been doing a lot of knitting,” Steve admits.

Marcela leans back against the pillows. “They can all come as soon as they want,” she says. She sounds incredibly exhausted. “I’ll need to feed her in about an hour, I think.”

“Maybe we’ll let you have a little time,” Steve suggests. “A nap?”

Marcela laughs a little. “That doesn’t sound terrible.”

“We’ll take her with us,” Bucky jokes. Well, partially jokes. He’s a little bit serious.

“Nah, I think we’ll keep her here,” Grant says, eyes shining.

“Alright, let’s get a picture of you three,” Bucky says, walking comically slow across the room to hand Kat off to Grant. Marcela makes a little face.

“I don’t look great.”

“You do,” Grant protests, bending a little to kiss her. “You’ve never looked more gorgeous.”

“Must be a hormone thing,” Marcela jokes. “Because I know that’s not true. I _hope_ that’s not true. I saw myself.”

Grant gives Kat to Marcela and wraps an arm around Marcela’s shoulders. Steve and Bucky both take about fourteen pictures. Steve sends it out to the whole team. His phone immediately starts buzzing with exclamations and emojis.

Will comes back, with balloons and flowers and a pizza that makes Marcela’s eyes light up, and they all spend most of the day in the hospital room, taking turns holding Kat and swaddling her and cooing nonsense in her face. Steve and Bucky pick up the burrito swaddling method quickly—“it’s like making a bed up to Army standards,” Steve says, and Bucky shudders at the memory—and it doesn’t take too long for them to relax a bit while holding her, not so worried they’ll drop her or squeeze her too tightly.

Through the next few days, Steve takes pictures of Kat with every member of the Avengers, and with Bucky, and with Grant, and with Marcela, and with Will, and in various combinations of people, and by herself, until his phone protests that the memory is full, a feat Tony had promised him a hundred times he would never achieve.

Bucky immediately loads a picture of the two of them with Grant, Marcela, and Kat into their holographic picture frame, and they sit on the couch one night a week after she’s born and just stare at it, cuddled close to each other and looking at the picture of their newly-expanded family. It was only three years ago they were celebrating but also mourning Grant’s wedding. There’s not much room to mourn anymore, not with how much they love Marcela and now Kat.

Steve sighs a little and rests his head against Bucky’s. “We’re grandpas.”

Bucky laughs quietly. “We are.”

“I never even thought I’d get a kid, let alone a grandkid.”

“I never thought I’d get you,” Bucky admits softly. “Not for real.”

Steve turns his head and kisses Bucky, long and slow. He thinks about the question Sam asked him when they first met, before Bucky came back to him, before he had a family with Bucky and Grant and the rest of the Avengers. _What makes you happy?_ He thinks about the pit in his stomach that question opened up, because he couldn’t answer it.

He looks around the living room, sees the knitting needles stuck in a ball of yarn from where Bucky, Natasha, and Thor’s girls had been trying out a new pattern. He sees a picture of him and Bucky on their wedding day, faces tipped close together, eyes soft. He sees a picture of Grant on Bucky’s shoulders, mouth ringed in ice cream, waving happily at the camera, next to an old, faded picture of Bucky and his sisters when they were young. He sees a picture of his mother, eyes serious but a little smile on her lips. He sees a picture of him and Natasha, a picture of Sam in his wings, a picture of Clint and Bucky at the shooting range, a picture of the Avengers team all together, and then settles back on the picture of him and Bucky with their kids and their granddaughter.

“I’m happy,” he whispers into Bucky’s hair. “I’m so happy.”

“Me too,” Bucky tells him. He reaches over and threads their fingers together. “And I want us to be this happy forever.”

Sometimes Steve worries about forever. He thinks—fears, sometimes—that he really could live forever, and he’s not so sure that’s something he wants. But just then, wrapped up on the couch with Bucky, that warm, full feeling in his chest, he thinks—yeah. Forever.


End file.
